


The Dilemma

by Roscommon



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roscommon/pseuds/Roscommon
Summary: (Cross posted on Fanfiction dot net starting 2015-04)This series started as a response to the 100-word "drabble" challenge to which some Stephanie Plum fanfiction authors contributed a few years ago. I initially wrote the first drabble as a stand-alone, amused by the thought of Stephanie from the books being forced to say something important in 100 words or less. (One begins to see the difficulty....)My muse and I enjoyed doing these so much that many more 100-word pieces followed, with some longer stories mixed in. They are loosely connected moments in an overall story arc. I compiled them into a few documents for ease of posting and reading on this Archive.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. The Dilemma: Moments 1 - 50

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer (applies to all): The Stephanie Plum character(s) belong to JE, trademarks belong to their respective owners, and I make no profit from them. These stories, though, belong to me. This is just for entertainment, so please excuse any errors.

**1\. The Dilemma**

Powdered sugar donuts or chocolate filled? Jelly or Butterscotch Krimpets? Goonies or Ghostbusters? Pierce Brosnan or Sean Connery?

Joe or Ranger? 

Why two options; why this stupid urgency to choose? 

Because Joe says: "In 100 words, choose Ranger or me." Is he nuts? Has he ever met me? Why 100 words you ask? Because it’s simple, he says. Simple for who? 

Simple my butt!

Whiskey eyes or chocolate? 

Satisfaction or ecstasy? Right now or maybe someday?

You’re kidding, right?

Holy cow! Wait a minute... Which of them chooses _me_ ? Why isn’t _that_ the question?

Jeez, come back when it is.

**2\. It’s Not Difficult**

I can say “I love you” in three words. In fact, there they are: “ _I love you_.” Append “ _And not Ranger_ ” and you’re up to six. It’s not difficult. So given 100 words, why can’t my Cupcake tell me she loves me?

I’m not Mr. Poetry, here, but I can freaking count. “She loves me, she loves me not….” Count just those words over-and-over; at 100 it stops at “She loves….” 

Which reveals what _is_ difficult. 

I can’t hide it from myself anymore. My girlfriend won’t say which man she loves. Which means she doesn’t love _me_. 

Big freaking surprise.

**3\. I’m an Opportunist**

Morelli tells Stephanie that she needs to confess her love in 100 words, and now she’s mad at _me_. 

Hell, I was smart enough to _not_ give her an ultimatum. But if I’d known all I had to do was wait for that idiot to draw a line in the sand, I’d have planted the idea long ago. 

Because a righteous Stephanie has fire sparking from her eyes; a furious Stephanie flares like an unleashed volcano. It’s a thing of beauty. Just the challenge I’ve been waiting for. 

I’m an opportunist, and that’s the Stephanie to claim and never share.

**4\. A Lot of Donuts**

Okay I’m giving up men. 

I know it’s the right decision when Joe turns his bedroom eyes on me, I start to melt, and then he murmurs, “Come over. Bob misses you.”

He’s pissed at _me_ because I won’t describe my feelings in his dumb 100-word thing, but it’s okay that he won’t say that _he_ , Joe Morelli, misses me? 

Men are stupid. Which is confirmed when Ranger actually laughs when I tell him why I walloped Joe with my Macy’s bag at Pino’s. 

I’m definitely going to need a lot of donuts, and probably a new shower head. 

**5\. Huh?**

Ranger totally didn’t need me on this stakeout. Even my grandma could’ve spotted Tito Ferrabuno dragging the giant fern out of Denny’s. 

Probably Ranger knows I need cash. 

While Ranger's guys wrestle Tito into the truck, I muse that this is my life: helping to apprehend repeat plant burglars alongside a drop-dead handsome man whose allure I'm determined to ignore.

“Still off men, Babe?” Ranger asks, breaking the silence. 

I roll my eyes. Can’t men think of anything but sex? “Ranger,” I huff, “I’m taking time to really think about my options, for a change.”

“Proud of you, Babe.”

_Huh?_

  
**6\. The Apology Is What Matters**

I bring her favorite Pino’s pizza to my Cupcake’s place to apologize. 

For what? I don’t know, but my mother taught me that the apology is what matters to women. Because men will screw up, regardless. Thanks Mom.

So I go to Stephanie’s apartment, knowing she might be there with the latest “blind date” her mother found. Or even Ranger, God help me.

Scowling, Stephanie reminds me she’s given up men. With the playful smile that has always worked, I reassure her that she’ll get over it.

She shoves me out the door. And keeps the pizza. 

What the hell?

  
**7\. Is He Trying?**

Ranger glides behind me as my neck tingles. “Babe, have a moment?" he murmurs. Connie glances at Lula as I follow Ranger.

Outside, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Resting his hands on the alley wall behind me, Ranger leans close. I gasp as his thigh snugs between mine. 

Ranger’s full lips tease a smile as he floats one hand downward. “Babe, forget something?” 

He pulls my .38 from his windbreaker pocket and hands it over. Then he half-winks and slips away, leaving me hot and bothered in the alley.

Is he trying to piss me off?

  
**8\. Is This Maybe?**

Ranger's eyes, molten black in the darkness, remain fixed on mine while his fingers trace along my blouse. I shiver, my breath hitches, time stops. I relax into his touch, which has wandered expertly into private territory. Victoria’s Secret is not secret any longer.

He leans forward, his brow arches provocatively, and a secretive smile traces his lips. "Love the outfit Babe," his voice murmurs low in my ear. "You never disappoint," his earthy breath ruffles my hair.

Then he gently removes the microphone, whispering, "Free for another distraction tomorrow night, Babe?"

I squint: is this maybe how Batman dates? 

  
**9\. But Seriously**

At first I think maybe Constantine Stiva escaped loony lockup when I see a vase of white lilies on my kitchen table. So I crouch with purse-as-a-deadly-weapon until I notice the Sam’s Club “Sale” wrapper in the trash. And then the card labeled “For Cupcake.” 

Perhaps the gesture would have made more sense if I’d noticed the card first. But seriously: doesn’t Joe know yet that flowers always come from stalkers? 

Then I realize what’s _really_ confusing is: since when does Joe give me flowers? This is new. 

Okay, I think he’s trying to be nice. But seriously: white lilies?

**10\. Frequent Buyer’s Card**

As I watch Ranger sink a basket over Joe Morelli’s head, I realize that attending this year’s Trenton Serves fundraising basketball game was a huge mistake.

Reason one: Sweaty men. Reason two: Joe is wearing gym shorts that showcase the best ass in Trenton. Reason three: Ranger is wearing basketball shorts and it’s obvious that he has buns of steel. Oh. My. God.

Connie claims I'm just being stubborn. Lula says probably I should get the Pleasure Treasures frequent buyer’s card so I don’t explode.

Meanwhile I’ve started to drool. Why am I off men, again? I’m starting to forget....

**11\. Need a Hand?**

"Babe, need a hand?" Ranger asks casually, scaring the bajeezus out of me while I wrestle Zinky Dewalt behind McDonald’s. 

"Yikes! No!" I answer as Zinky elbows me. Marinated in recycled cooking oil, Zinky slimes me, then ricochets into garbage cans. Lunging, Zinky splits a bulging trashbag over my head. 

Calmly, Ranger uses some Special Forces move to drop Zinky and cuff him. Smirking at my unused handcuffs dangling locked from one slicked wrist, Ranger picks a Ronald McDonald Happy Meal figure from my hair. "Babe, see you like toys as well as oil. Good to know." 

Mental head slap.

**12\. Devil’s Food**

_> > In honor of May 19, National Devil's Food Cake Day, 2015. Who knew? <<_

“Your Father and I met the nicest man at the city dump today,” my mother announces after describing how they finally jettisoned dad’s eight-track tapes. "He's coming for dessert. I hope he likes Devil's Food cake." 

"Mom!" 

"You need to meet different men," she asserts. 

_From the dump? Really?_

"Maybe he'll ask out Edna," dad mumbles, watching his fork like it holds the winning lottery number instead of meatloaf. 

"Is he a hottie like that stud Ranger?" Grandma Mazur asks. "I'd serve _him_ cake anytime.”

And of course, all I can imagine is Ranger smirking that he actually prefers pie. 

**13\. No Rap Sheet**

Marc shakes his head and laughs. "Wow your life changed since college," making me chuckle. He raises his wineglass in a salute just as Joe sits down at our table. 

"A new boyfriend?" Joe asked, an unreadable expression on his face.

_Sheesh. Really?_

Then I hear Ranger's voice a few tables away. "A friend from Rutgers. I checked; no rap sheet."

_You’re kidding me._

Marc glances between both men. “Steph, do you know these guys?”

“Apparently yes,” I answer glaring at Joe, then Ranger. Though I owe Connie five bucks; she correctly bet that Ranger would also crash my date. 

**14\. You Really Weren’t Kidding**

Elliott from the dump is surprisingly nice. He's handsome too, likes hockey and brings food. Mom got almost everything right.

I reach for another Buffalo wing, my door snicks, and Ranger enters.

"Steph," Ranger nods. I roll my eyes as Ranger hands over my lost Maglite, then settles into my armchair like this is normal.

"You really weren't kidding..." Elliott stares.

"...about anything," he adds as Joe saunters in.

"I brought beer," Joe announces, dropping next to Elliott on the couch.

It's like a testosterone-themed episode of _Friends_ with hockey.

Elliott smiles. I smile.

Elliott's about to reveal he's gay.

**15\. A Lot More Donuts**

Lula and Connie return from a hasty trip to Tasty Pastry. I know I’ve gotten scary when I see the donut box is unopened.

“Here girlfriend,” Lula thrusts the box at me. “You need these.” 

“Right now,” Connie nods emphatically.

“Very funny,” I glare as I grab a jelly donut and practically eat it in one bite. I lick a raspberry blob from my fingers, then box-dive for another pastry.

I would’ve taken care of this myself except I’d spotted Joe scowling inside Tasty Pastry this morning, and Ranger’s Turbo was outside.... 

Jeez, I’m gonna need a lot more donuts.

**16\. Maybe It’s Time**

What’s a cop’s day like? That’s easy: tedium punctuated by chaos. 

But I can’t say that to students at career day; I let Picky field those questions.  
I take the ones about prerequisites and fitness.

Hmm, tedium punctuated by chaos. Sounds familiar. My life in a nutshell.  
So maybe it isn’t _tedium_. Maybe it’s _routine_. Maybe it’s _comfortable._

Maybe it isn’t _chaos_. Maybe it’s Stephanie.

Maybe it’s time to stop and think. 

Because she won’t say she loves me. Because I’m tired of running into Manoso.  
Because I’m pursuing a woman who just set me up on a gay date. 

  
**17\. I Already Know**

I laughed for ten minutes when Steph told me about Morelli’s flowers. But I laughed all night after I figured out about Elliott. Well played, Babe.

Seeing Morelli at Tasty Pastry when I arrived the next morning clarified things. Any tactic that repeatedly lands me with the cop is obviously the wrong one. 

So, what’s my play? I’ve seen Steph in action. If she were pursuing _me_ , she’d find my habits, my foibles, my cravings. And that’s right where she’d be. I’d raise my hands to the inevitability of my capture. 

Smiling, I realize I already know my Babe’s cravings.

  
**18\. Rex Isn’t Fooled**

Rex watches me slip into my apartment, his whiskers twitching in amusement as I close the door. I feel him wondering why I haven’t switched on the lights. 

I mumble that it’s late, I’m headed straight to sleep, but Rex isn’t fooled. He knows I’m creating my own soup-can hideout. A place where Joe won’t look for me after the game. 

Yeah, Rex is right. Probably I shouldn’t have given my Rangers ticket to Elliott. 

But Connie’s last-minute lingerie party invitation was too good to skip. And hey: when did monthly hockey games in the TPD seats become _dates_ , anyway?

  
**19\. Police Business**

Ranger strides over while Joe and Detective DeSouza are taking my statement. Smoke is still billowing from my car. _Hmm_ , Vinnie was right: Kenny Dorkoff _is_ an arsonist.

Ranger leans in and wipes soot off my face. "Another car in heaven?" he asks gently, eyebrow arched. I nod.

Joe extends his hand, "Ranger not now." Then DeSouza adds, "Sir, this is police business."

Ranger moves closer. "Stephanie's security is _my_ business."

Joe looks heavenward, grumbling, "And you're doing such a fine job." 

Tank appears, dragging Kenny in cuffs. "Got your firebug."

Joe exhales. "Why does Vinnie bail these assholes out?"

**20\. Good Clean Fun**

Running on foot through the car wash isn’t the worst thing about apprehending Max Zipper.  
It's not even having to say his name when I bring him for re-booking. 

Nope: it’s the suds dripping down my face and blouse.

“Jimmy, toss Steph your roll of paper towels,” Joe shouts over the banter while helping Big Dog wrestle soapy Max from my hands. 

Carl laughs. “Hey Joe, glad to see Steph likes having good clean fun.”

Joe rolls his eyes and flips Carl the one-fingered bird. Then he drapes his windbreaker over my shoulders. “Another excellent day fighting crime,” Joe mutters. 

**21\. That I Can Manage**

_ >>In honor of National Ice Cream Day, which is generally the third Sunday in July. But hey, July is apparently National Ice Cream month (!) in the U.S. How totally awesome is that?<<_

My Babe enthusiastically welcomes two scoops of Chocolate Therapy in a cup. She’s not waiting for a plastic spoon; she does impressive damage with the doll-sized tasting paddle. 

Her moan as she licks her finger finally convinces me to get a Mango Sorbet. Something socially acceptable to occupy my hands and mouth.

“Ohmigod Ranger, the Ben & Jerry’s mall store should get shrine status. I feel better already.”

“I’m glad Babe.” Just like I’m glad I’d overheard her earlier lament about her crappy day. How she lives her life is her business; ways to make days better… that I can manage.

  
**22\. Moon Over the Parking Lot**

While leaving the QuickMart I see Lester sauntering from across the street, while my skip Joey Bastardo lurches past me, juggling three six packs.

“Stop him,” I yell, sprinting toward Joey and his baggy pants. 

I toss my saltines and peanut butter at him. Then I slip, but hit Joey with my purse as I fall. Cans of beer fly from his arms as he trips on his own pants. 

I see two things: Pale Bastardo moon over the parking lot, and smashed saltines. 

“I was wrong,” Lester laughs as he cuffs Joey. “You do know how to have fun.”

**23\. Not That I Noticed**

I spear another piece of General Gau’s Chicken as I mention how Joe told me to choose him  
or Ranger in 100 words.

After spewing his beer Elliott says, “First, a man who asks his girlfriend to choose him in  
100 words doesn’t really have a girlfriend.” 

“Huh?”

“A hundred _words_ ? That’s why God invented Hallmark. Love is something you express  
hundreds of _times_ , not just in words." Elliott huffs. "Did he first choose _you_ in 100  
words?"

"Not that I noticed."

"A woman who doesn't notice her boyfriend declare his love in 100 words doesn't really  
have a boyfriend."

  
**24\. Good Luck with Hiring People**

Elliott clears takeout containers from the coffee table and laughs at all the right places while I tell him about my skip-capture disaster _du jour_.

Then, as I pause, Elliott floors me by saying he interviewed today as an alarm installer at Rangeman.

"Your friend Ranger called me," Elliott’s smile teases. "He said he has good luck with  
hiring people after they've been on dates with Morelli."

I glare; I should _never_ have told Ranger why I was hiding from Joe the other night.

Elliott winks. "Oh, don't worry girlfriend. _I'm_ not the one into the 'strong but silent' type."

**25\. It Could Happen**

I open my fridge and jump back. Maybe I’d accidentally entered Mrs. Karwatt’s apartment instead of mine.

Because the fridge is stacked with GladWare containers. What the heck? I close and reopen the door and they’re still there. Possibly they’d been breeding in the dark.

I pull one out slowly; it might be full of body parts. It could happen.

Instead, the label says “Chicken Marsala, one serving” in Ella’s unmistakable handwriting. I cradle the container like I’d been handed keys to the Ghostbusters’ Ecto1 Cadillac.

Did Ranger know he’d just saved me from a week of scrounging for dinner?

**26.** **Isn't That Something**

“Now isn't that something.” Grandma Mazur’s dentures clack speculatively, warning me  
not to look. “I wonder how much duct tape he used.” 

Okay, I have to look. _Huh._ It’s my skip Freddy Foruncolo wheeling a wobbling, seated man  
toward Money-Now. 

“Stay here,” I instruct, dodging across the street. 

“Freddy, I’m from Plum Bonds and….” Holy crap! I recognize the seated man. Last night’s  
open casket. Freddy’s pushing a dead man taped to a chair. 

Eddie Gazarra pulls up. “Whoa, that’s Buddy Kazmir! Why isn’t he at Stiva’s?”

“Buddy wants to cash his Welfare check,” Freddy earnestly explains. 

“Uh…,” Eddie blinks.

**27\. Suspiciously Smoky**

I hear _Happy Days_ from Mooner’s ajar doorway. The Fonz speaks, I knock, the laugh-track goes wild.  
Cue “rolling of eyes.”

“Mooner,” I call into the suspiciously smoky room. “You forgot your court date again.”

“Yeah, but it’s the ‘70s marathon on Channel 11.” 

Okay this is weird, even for Mooner. He’s invisible and his TV is upside down. I tiptoe around the sofa to see Mooner lolling from his armchair; head hanging down, feet in the air. 

“Dudette, you’re like totally standing on your head,” Mooner blurts. 

“Mooner, you’re sitting upside-down.”

“Oh! _That’s_ why the Cheetos keep falling _up_!” 

  
**28\. Cockswain on Deck**

_ >>September 19th is “Talk Like a Pirate Day,” the cause for many amusing conversations in my neighborhood. “Cockswain” is an older and British (and happily pirate approved) spelling for coxswain. These days, I hear people pronounce it more like “cox-en” but I imagine that, like me, Lula would be likely to pronounce it as spelled. Arrrr me buckos, enjoy!<<_

“Avast, me hearties, for I be here!” Lula breezes into the bonds office door with a flourish. “Arrrr!”

“Say what now?” Connie goggles mid-nailpolish, while I settle for “huh?”

Lula straightens her turquoise headscarf, then declares, “Scurvy lubbers, where be donuts?  
Have we no grog?” Lula’s hoop earrings sway in enthusiasm.

Lester strolls in and Lula proclaims, “Ahoy, Cockswain on deck.” 

As I mouth “Cockswain?” Lester laughs, then catches my eye. “Aye wench,” he grins, ”Happy  
 _Talk Like a Pirate Day_.” Winking he adds, “Though some ‘cocks’ _never_ wane _.”_

Connie hurls her nailpolish unerringly at Lester’s crotch. 

“Arrrr,” Lester buckles.

**29\. Top Ten List**

“Ten!” Connie shouts. “A hookup in every 7-11.”

“Nine!” Lula exclaims. “Truffles always like your outfit.”

“Eight!” Connie responds. “No condom negotiations!

“Amen,” Lula laughs. “Where were we?” Connie holds up fingers. “Oh. Seven! Stephanie, your turn.” 

“Chocolate, duh!” 

“Says it all,” Connie laughs. “Six! Nobody expects a candy bar to call you back.”

“Kinda weak, homegirl,” Lula comments. “Five! That M&M cartoon guy is really _large_.” Even I snort. 

"Four, three and two: Cadbury, Ghirardelli, _and_ Dove."

“One!” Lula shouts, “Steph’s turn,” 

“Ranger!” I blurt.

He smiles from the doorway. “Ladies, no way is chocolate better than sex.

  
**30\. The Perfect Gesture**

_ >> In honor of November 5, National Doughnut Day... need I say more? << _

Rounding Camden on the last leg to Trenton, it comes to me. The perfect gesture. Exiting 95, I reverse course. 

My trip just became closer to eight hours long. Yeah, I’m whipped. Two years ago this would’ve been a foolish distraction. 

But that was before I met my Babe. For her, I’m driving all night from Fort Bragg. Yesterday’s briefing ran late and I promised to help surveil today’s morning shift break at Trenton Pharmaceuticals. So here I am. 

I park my car in the pre-dawn, and smile. They’ve abandoned Newark, but Krispy Kreme is open for business in Bensalem.

**31\. Uncomfortably Familiar**

I even brought flowers.

Not that it matters, since it’s movie night at Cupcake’s place. Yeah, I need a different endearment after overhearing Steph dismiss cupcakes as imitation desserts. But I digress.

So here I am, wedged between Steph and Elliott as movie credits play. 

_Spy._ What a movie. I kept imagining it was Steph— though Steph is much slimmer and sexier— bumbling her way through danger. Unexpectedly competent, with a handsome, sidelined partner and a muscle-bound idiot as her sidekick. 

Uncomfortably familiar. 

And then at the end she’s in bed with the muscular idiot?! Jeez, do they feed women these things? 

**32\. It’s Not What You Think**

The first step is to admit the problem. So: my name is Elliott Benson and middle-aged women love me. And, until recently this _was_ a problem. Because... _so_ not interested, girlfriend. Then I met Mrs. Plum. 

Stop laughing; it’s not what you think. Through her I met Stephanie. Now I’m never bored. Through Stephanie I met Ranger. Now I’m employed. Through Ranger I met Woody. Now I have dinner and dancing. 

Who knew?

Yeah, I also met Hector and he scares the piss outta me. 

And, bonus: he terrifies our middle-aged female customers. Who love me. My job is secure. 

**33\. Maybe I Have Business**

That’s my Babe exiting a Rangeman Bronco in front of Plum Bonds. She leans into the passenger window to finish her conversation, showing off her shapely legs, while I scan the Rangeman vehicle assignment list.

Ah. Benson _comma_ Elliott. 

_Hmm_ , Stephanie told Elliott that she’s still car-less, instead of me. She must still be on hiatus from heterosexual temptation. 

Fortunately I'm not on that same program. In fact, I think maybe I have business with Vinnie near closing time today. And maybe it’s time to test drive my Carrera convertible. 

I smile. This could be a fun evening after all. 

**34\. I Used to Worry**

You can never leave the ’Burg. The Gazzaras tried, but only escaped two blocks outside the boundary. Just a block from Steph’s building, which Eddie now passes on his way to work.

So, today I get to hear about the handsome guy in a Rangeman truck who picked her up for work. Lean with light brown hair. Probably her new BFF Elliott. 

Great. I used to worry about Ranger slipping between the sheets whenever Steph and I were on the outs. Now she’s replaced me with a guy who’s not even interested in her sheets. 

Why am I not relieved?

**35\. One More Guy**

Sheesh. I _knew_ I’d get an earful having Elliott drive me to Plum Bonds this morning, after my recent car flambée. 

“Ooh girlfriend,” Lula enthuses as I enter, “who’s the new hotness you're hiding behind those tinted truck windows?” 

“Yeah,” Connie lowers her _Cosmo._ “When you gonna introduce the next bachelor contestant?”

“Cripes,” Vinnie grumbles from his darkened office. “Not _another_ boyfriend.”

“Mmm,” Joyce Barnhardt’s unmistakable, treacle purr emerges from Vinnie’s doorway. “This must mean that Ranger’s very busy... or _very_ available,” she smirks. “Interesting.”

“Nah,” Lula snorts. “What’s _interesting_ is that there’s one more guy you won’t be getting.” 

**36\. Are We Really Testing?**

Surrendered to the breeze, my hair whirls like I'm in a speedboat with James Bond, like I'm Wonder Woman airborne again.

Like I'm in Ranger's passenger seat after work, headed toward Mercer County Park.

Okay, not complaining, but are we really testing his sportscar? Or testing my resolve? Because… Netflix at home? Not even a close second to driving in Ranger's convertible. I want independence. But must I fly solo?

Here's the truth: I do want to fly. 

_Sigh._ And yes, I do want to jump his bones.

"Still off men, Babe?"

And he knows it, darn his smug eyebrow.

**37\. Who is This?**

Ranger floors me. First he nabs my popcorn. Then he tosses a handful in his mouth while driving back to Trenton. 

Well, _first_ he buys me a cheesy dog and root beer. Then he shows me around the park. And _now_ he eats buttered popcorn. 

Who is this man?

The music playlist seems like Ranger’s. The car is definitely Ranger’s. The smirk? Ranger’s. I have to check. “Popcorn? Is the temple closed?” 

“Two minutes of boxing or fifteen crunches to burn that off, Babe.”

Okay, undoubtedly Ranger. Just… not Batman, commando, gangstah, or boardroom Ranger. Kinda like… _fun_ Ranger. 

_Whoa._

**38\. A Fun Time**

Steph is giggling in the passenger seat and I’m laughing out loud by the story’s end—another slapstick Plum Bond office screwup. Painful if told by anyone else, it’s comic gold in my Babe’s retelling. 

And it hits me: I’ve honestly enjoyed this evening. 

My plan was to give Steph a fun time after work. And yeah, to tempt her shamelessly with a fast ride in a hot car with... well, me. 

But once again, she’s artlessly turned the tables, with her full-tilt approach to life and her cockeyed perspectives. And now it’s me who’s tempted, wanting more than just tonight.

**39\. The Right Thing**

“Thanks Ranger,” Steph’s voice teases my awareness as though her words are lapping against my skin. “I had fun.” 

“I’m glad.” Mission accomplished, I steel my resolve and move toward her elevator, belatedly obscuring another way I’m the man of steel tonight. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure?” she breathes. _Here it comes... steady soldier_. “Um, did you want to stay tonight?”

 _Hell yes._ But I’ve blown this before. She’s still unsure. If I stay, it’s just another night of disavowable pleasure.

“It’s late Babe,” I deflect. “Sleep tight.” 

Damn, doing the right thing is a _bitch_.

**40\. Just Sayin’**

>> _In honor of the calendar’s highest dessert holiday: National Donut Day (1st Friday in June) <<_

Connie has a box of donuts on her counter. Making a beeline, I grab the first jelly-filled. “Omigod,” I moan. “I _so_ needed that,” the pastry muffles my words. After another bite, the donut is gone. Reaching, I grab the last Boston Cream. 

“So, I take it that _was_ Ranger’s truck, just now, dropping you off?” Connie’s voice is casually blasé. 

“Mmm hmm,” I admit. 

“Damn!” Lula passes Connie a dollar. “Well, why you jonesing for those sugar hormones then, girl?” 

Wiping my mouth, I blurt, “Because... Ranger.” 

“Girlfriend, maybe you should reconsider that ‘being off men’ thing. Just sayin’.”

**41\. Do-Over**

“That ain’t even a real game. You made that up,” Lula protests.

“Sure is,” Connie huffs. “I saw it on TV.”

“Yeah, that makes it real. Like Snooki is real.... Okay, bad example,” Lula shrugs. 

“It’s fun,” Connie insists. “I’ll start. If I’m with anyone, _anywhere_ but here, I choose Channing Tatum in Aruba.” 

“Okay,” Lula concedes. “I gotta go with Blair Underwood in Jamaica. Or anywhere under _that_ wood…. _”_ Lula’s eyes glaze.

“Yeah, see?” Connie smirks. “Your turn Steph.”

Great. It’s last night’s dream all over again. Ranger in Hawaii. With suntan lotion.... 

No fair! I want a do-over.

**42\. Locker Artist**

Shaking my head, I tear another clipping from my TPD locker. Today’s magazine wisdom: “The cupcake invokes a sense of wholesomeness and nostalgia, though for a past never experienced.” _Gee, thanks for that._

Well, I guess it’s better than last week’s 8-by-10 glossy photo of a torched car. Or the cover of _He’s Just Not That Into You_ , with a magic markered “S” in front. 

Like I hadn’t figured _that_ out. I wonder… after I find the anonymous locker artist, should I thank him or shoot him? 

_Or her_... I squint as I spy Robin Russell darting into the breakroom.

 _[Note: My muse comments that the locker wisdom in the above piece paraphrases  
a widely re-quoted excerpt from an opinion piece in _ The Guardian _that had nothing  
to do with cupcakes, beyond leveraging their quaint cuteness as a scathing extended  
metaphor. Ah, pity the poor cupcake: a charming and fun-sized dessert that becomes  
meaningful for the wrong reasons.] _

**43\. Surprise or Admiration**

“Well, shee-it,” Woody drawls as we pull into the garage. I can’t tell if it’s surprise or admiration. Following his gaze I suddenly understand.

Because there’s my boss, Ranger, stripped down to shorts and a muscle shirt, polishing a red Carrera. “Shee-it,” I echo, eyes wide. It’s like a Porsche advertisement done Chippendales style.

Nudging me, Woody confides, “Elliott, only two things make a busy man like that detail his own chrome: losing’ a bet or courtin’ his honey.” Woody smirks. “My money’s on the latter.” 

“Mine’s there, too.” Knowing he’ll appreciate the wordplay I add, “Because Stephanie? She it.” 

**44\. I’ll Wait**

“Ranger, I can’t go on that drive you planned for tonight.” My Babe is close to tears on the phone. 

Now, my cars _are_ outstanding, but bypassing a joyride can’t be why she’s upset. So I just say, “That’s fine. I’ll still pick you up.”

“Okay,” her voice is muffled. “I’m at the dump on Patterson.” As I mobilize for the probable bond retrieval I’m walking into, she adds, “Can you bring clothes? I got pushed into sewage.” She sniffles. “That was my last suit!”

Alright, time to man-up. I’ll wait while she showers, then we’re headed to Quakerbridge Mall.

**45\. Another Work Day**

“Oh _no_ girlfriend! Moogie Muganski did _not_ escape after landing you in the doody,” Lula rises to my honor. 

"Meanwhile," Vinnie drones, "yet another day expires before I recoup his bond." 

“ _Stugats_ ,” Connie hisses. 

Oh yeah, now I remember why I’d wanted to play hooky this morning. But Ranger had been back in his normal truck, behind shades in his Rangeman jacket. _Just another work day, people._ So here I am with Connie, reviewing skip paperwork. 

_Hmm_ , how many cars does Ranger really have? Which one will he drive tonight? 

“You in there?” Connie asks. Oh jeez, I gotta focus. 

**46\. Who Knew**

Woody grins. “Ready for some fun, Elliott?” 

We’re outside of Plum Bonds, on pickup duty, so I’m unsure how to answer. “Okay,” I finally venture, trying to forget last week’s visit. If you’re wondering, glitter is not a good look on black chinos. 

Meanwhile, Woody strides in like he’s arriving for poker under the gaze of Belle, barkeep with a heart of gold. 

Belle, I mean Connie, grabs our bond receipts. “You just missed Ranger,” she smirks. “Unlike Vinnie.”

A bowling trophy sails from the back office, crashing through a string of swearwords. 

“Wow, who knew Vinnie bowled?” Lula asks. 

**47\. Accident Prone**

“But sir, you can’t be _Stephanie_ ,” the clerk’s voice trembles under Tank’s glare. 

Leaning back, amused, I watch my second’s shoulders bunch and wonder: would the cop-shop’s yellowed plexiglass withstand Tank’s famous haymaker? 

“You’re obviously new,” Tank glowers. “Just make the receipt to Stephanie Plum,” Tank rumbles like an earthquake.

“Uh... okay,” the clerk mumbles. “Defendant... Muganski… Recovery Agent… Plum,” his writing hand shakes. 

“What the...?” Morelli strolls in. “Ranger, your skip’s covered in snot.”

“He’s accident prone,” I smile. “He helped Steph slip into sewage yesterday, and slipped at the mucilage factory today.”

“Ah,” Morelli nods appraisingly. "Accidents happen." 

**48\. You Hadn’t Heard** **  
**

Lula’s ready to tackle any escapees. So, I smooth my skirt, prep my beauty pageant smile, and march into Elvin Crumpler’s office.

“Stephanie Orr,” Elvin’s gaze oozes along my legs. “It’s been too long.”

 _Yeah, not long enough_. “It’s Stephanie Plum now. Surprised you hadn’t heard.” 

“I heard,” his grin widens as I approach his desk. “But what’s in a name?” 

I don’t flinch as his grabby hand reaches toward me. And then, _snick_ , I lock the cuff around his wrist. “The name’s _Plum_ , like Vinnie Plum. As in: you skipped bail.” 

_Oh, and my eyes are up here, Elvin._

**49\. Are Those Chinos?**

“Mmm, it’s the 911 Turbo tonight, girlfriend,” Lula teases from her perch by the window. “Sleek, dark and mysterious. Like someone we know.”

“Someone Vinnie knows,” Connie arches her penciled brow. “The weasel just scooted out the back door.”

“Yeah, I don’t think our man is here for Vinnie tonight.”

I overcome my studied indifference to peek. There’s Ranger, striding from his car in aviators, all in black. But, are those chinos? Is that a button-down shirt? Holy cow, those look like loafers. Who knew they made those in black?

The door opens; I blot my drool.

“Babe, let’s roll.”

**50\. Best Feature**

“I’m so glad I saw the flyer for this today,” Stephanie enthuses as we walk from my Turbo. With a shrug, I accept that the best feature of tonight’s plans was that I could scuttle them immediately after picking her up.

With me in chinos and her in heels, we’re overdressed: Strayer University “Thursday Throwback” movies are shown in a gymnasium. 

But when the lights dim, the magic begins. Because—though usually I’d have to kill anyone who’d seen me here—I wouldn’t miss a minute of Steph, rapt on a folding chair, savoring _Toy Story_ in a room of college students. 

_To be continued..._


	2. The Dilemma: Moments 51 - 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer (applies to all): The Stephanie Plum character(s) belong to JE, trademarks belong to their respective owners, and I make no profit from them. These stories, though, belong to me. This is just for entertainment, so please excuse any errors.

**51\. Helpfully**

_ >> In honor of November 20, National Peanut Butter Fudge Day. << _

“Three scoops of peanut butter fudge, with whipped cream and sprinkles.” 

Elliott goggles; I guess he’s not used to Plum lunchtime. “So girlfriend, why are we doubling down on sugar today?” 

“Men,” I mumble around my first mouthful, aiming my spoon for the next. “Ranger,” I add helpfully.

Well not so helpfully, I guess, as Elliott frowns. “Ranger, who lives on whey shakes and granola made you eat dessert?” 

“No. Sugar hormones,” I blurt between bites. “To stay off men.” 

“Why?”

_ Huh. Good question…. _

“I mean,” Elliott winks, “there are more fun ways to get your daily ‘salty and sweet’.” 

**52\. Just Friends**

“Amateurs,” Hector growls at the junction box, his steely glare a death sentence for the prior security contractor’s bad soldering. 

“Elliott, he barks. “Crimpers.” I hand them over and prepare wire caps, having serviced enough failed alarm boxes to know the drill. “So, lunch with  _ jefe’s _ girlfriend?” Hector probes. “She try to make boss jealous?”

“Yeah, we had lunch. Well, ‘girl talk’ over ice cream.” Recalling Hector’s obsessive loyalties, I assert, “Ranger knows Stephanie and I are just friends.”

“Is why you still alive,” he grins happily while stripping a wire with scalpel precision. 

I worry sometimes that he’s serious. 

**53\. Role Model**

"Yo homegirl," Lula interrupts. "You passed the PoPo, which normally I'd applaud except we gotta get Swampthing outta the backseat and rebooked."   
  
"Crud," I mutter into a U-turn. My job seriously interferes with my thinking time.  Like thinking about: I went to a movie with Batman! It was like a date! It could've maybe been more…. But I'm off men. This is a fundamental conflict. What would Wonder Woman do? 

_ Hmm _ , you know, I've  _ been _ Wonder Woman. I plummeted to a leotard sprawl on the Kruzak's roses. 

And wait: her love life is crap. I need a better role model!

**54\. Fun to Pretend**

“Is not,” I glare at Lula.

“Is too,” her earrings bob with the vehemence of her reply. Arms crossed, we’re bookends of righteousness.

Tapping her talking Jersey Shore pen, which mercifully has stopped spewing Pauly quotes, Connie sighs. “Steph, you know she’s right.”

“Is not.” 

“Jeez, stubbornness _ is  _ your superpower,” Connie glares. “But Lula’s got a point. It’s fun to pretend being Wonder Woman….”

“Or Storm,” Lula interjects.

“Yeah, whatever,” Connie continues. “But Steph, pretending to be other people keeps you from being yourself.” She stops a beat. “Be your own superhero for once.”

_ Whoa.  _ Connie is Yoda. Who knew?

**55\. Gateways**

“Mr. Manoso, I need your signature on this line,” the Trenton PD clerk pushes my carry permit renewal form back under the partition. 

Usually I don’t miss details like that. Of course, I hadn’t planned to do this today. But who could blame me for lingering in the Records line while listening to the conversation behind me. 

“I’m giving up subtlety, Joe just doesn’t get it,” Robin Russell grouses. 

“Invite him to Pino’s tonight,” her friend giggles. “Pizza and lots of beer: gateways to a detective’s heart.” 

They laugh; I smile. 

People sometimes misunderstand when I say I’m an opportunist. 

**56\. Since When**

_ >> In honor of Margarita Day. Because apparently every day cannot be Margarita Day. Again: who knew? << _

Robin Russell and Sharon Verdoljak pass my desk, giggle, then keep walking. I check: no lunch in my teeth. Next, Joe Junior is zipped. Finally, I’m not still wearing pyjamas like in a nightmare. It’s life’s little checklist.

“Joe,” Robin turns back, her crisp uniform caressing her figure. “Joining us tonight at Pino’s? It’s margarita night.”

Okay, so I might not be Mensa material, but since when have detectives been invited to patrolman’s night out? Then, noting her coy smile, I finger the appetizer coupon that’s appeared fortuitously under today’s case report on my blotter. 

Well...  _ huh. _

“Sure, sounds great.” 

**57\. Comfort Food**

_ >> In honor of April 2, National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day. << _

I open the cabinet. Yes! Behold the peanut butter jar! Comfort food; dinner is guaranteed. 

Except… it’s empty. Fridge check: not much jelly either. Not even Rex could make a satisfying meal from this. And now Rex’s squinty glare reminds me: Joe threw away my peanut butter last time I lived with him. Yeah, okay, time has passed; it’s peanut butter under the bridge, as it were. But you just don’t forget something like that.

_ Sigh _ . Tonight I see two choices: mooch a meal at mom’s or buy dinner at Pino’s. I grab my keys. I’ll decide on the way.

**58\. Popcorn**

“Hell, that can’t be good.” I follow Woody’s gaze and… oh yeah. Looking left from Pino’s pickup counter, I see Joe Morelli sharing a tipsy, elbow entwined drink with a familiar-looking ladyfriend. Meanwhile, Stephanie Plum just entered. 

Now, I’m reasonably new to this soap opera, but I know enough to recognize a Stephanie “rhino” moment about to happen. It’s also dawning on me that we’d seen Ranger’s truck as we came in.

Stephanie heads our way. Then she stops, turns, and squints in Joe’s direction. 

“Woody, I see two choices: run like hell or get popcorn.” 

“Popcorn it is, hoss.”

**59\. I Stop**

I stop. I squint. And it's not because of Pino’s shadows. 

No, it's because Joe and Robin Russell are at the corner table, laughing with arms and margaritas tangled as they slosh between drinking and spilling. While half of Pino’s watches.

You've gotta be kidding!

Fuming, I start their way. And then… there’s Woody and Elliott getting takeout. And I realize Elliott— and now Ranger— picks me up for work. Not Joe. And I remember, oh yeah, recent evenings at Shorty’s with Rangemen and beer. 

It’s been weeks since I’ve really spoken with Joe. 

I stop.  _ Huh. _

Good luck, Robin.

**60\. She Stops**

She stops, her attention like a panther who's spotted her prey. Motionless but for the Molotov fury in her eyes, the fisted hands on her hips, the gauntlet toss of her hair.

She squints. 

I inhale.  _ It's on. _

A mercenary shadow behind Pino's service door, I'm ready. If there's a brawl I'll rescue her. Tears? I'll be the shoulder for solace. 'Burg censure? I'll be the uncompromising inducement to desist.

I know my Babe and I'm prepared for everything. Except…

She stops. Speculation, realization, a wry shrug. She turns away.

Oh.

I've underestimated her. 

Leaning back, I smile.  _ It's on _ .

**61\. Stephanie Turns**

“Elliott,” Woody hisses. “Should we smile? Or run like there’s bears in our tent?” 

_ Bears _ , I think, spying our boss, Ranger, ghosting into the scattered Pino’s busybodies in Stephanie wake. But it’s too late to run as, pausing, Stephanie asks, “Carryout? Mind if I join?”

Ranger interjects. “Babe, join  _ me _ for dinner?”

Gaze igniting as she does the math, Stephanie turns. “Why are you here tonight?” Her toes tap. I suddenly understand why Hal fears my usually madcap friend.

“In case you need me.” 

“Hmmm.” Stephanie frowns. “Sometimes it’s not about dinner, it’s about me.”

“Steph, It's always about you.”

**62\. Rex is Unimpressed**

Rex’s head pops up when I turn on the hallway light. His gleaming eyes can see the clock behind me at this angle. Whiskers quiver, nose wrinkles... and I know he’s figured it out. 

_ Yup _ , I passed up the chance to rain righteous fury on Joe in front of everyone at Pino’s. And I declined the offer to be rescued by Batman. 

I inhale. Time to be my own superhero, like Connie said. Because, I actually meant it. Sometimes it's about  _ me _ . Not about Joe's left-behind girlfriend or Ranger’s damsel in distress. 

Rex is unimpressed; he knows me too well. 

**63\. Wilding**

Still on my parents stoop, I eye Grandma Mazur’s outfit: black tights, gloves, and baggy smock, with steel colored rain boots. I wonder, did she go shopping at the Rangeman Bag-Lady Surplus store?

“I’m Dread Pirate Roberts,” her dentures clack as she peers back into the hall mirror. “But without the do-rag. It’s better that way,” she nods. 

Then ancient Mr. Zuwalt from next door hollers. “Ready to go wilding?” 

“You bet,” she grabs two Butterfingers, shoves the candy bowl into my hands, then scoots out. 

“Have fun storming the castle!" I shout. 

Wait, what is wrong with this picture?

**64\. Needing Time**

The drive to upgrade Mercer FunWorld’s alarm is uneventful. Then Hector shifts in the passenger seat. 

“Elliott,” he cleaves the silence. “You have dinner with  _ jefe’s  _ lady?”

_ Fabulous.  _ Either we’re bonding or it’s yet another death threat. So I peek. He’s concentrating. Nimble fingers methodically untangle knotted, recycled electrical wire on his lap. 

“Hmm,” I ponder. “Actually, she insisted on joining us. Something about being a superhero and needing time.” I shrug. “And Pino’s subs.” 

Hector turns, one strand of wire taut between his hands. “I wonder. Is enough to strangle someone?” 

“Hector, yes, and stop being such a maniac.”

**65\. Already Taken**

“Steph, what?” Val pivots like she’s enacting  _ The Exorcist _ in the ShopRite while lofting a box of TastyKakes. Missing the cart, they land in front of Mrs. Mirzowski’s walker. 

“Wait. You’re dating women, now?” Val pauses. “Well, I have a couple pantsuits you can have.” 

“No,” I roll my eyes, retrieving the dented box. Are we really related? “I’m just off men until I decide what I want.” 

“Last I checked,” she shrugs, “you can date either men or women.” She snorts. “Or Shrek.” 

Mrs. Mirzowski  _ tsks _ . “Dawdle long enough and Shrek will look really good. And Shrek’s already taken.” 

**66\. Out Loud?**

“Then Les bolted from the barracks wearing only whipped cream,” Bobby’s laughter is so contagious that we’d all be howling even if the story weren’t hilarious. 

Even Les is sniggering as he returns from Shorty’s bar with two more pitchers. “Very funny,” he winks. “But I’m sure Steph wants to hear how I got back at Ranger.” 

“Oh yeah,” I grin, sloshing my beer as I put it down.  _ Especially if it involves more naked whipped cream. _

“That could be arranged, Babe,” I hear beside me. 

_ Crap _ . “Out loud?”

“Oh yeah,” Ranger’s smile is liquid seduction. “Ready when you are.”

**67\. Special**

“We’re here,” I lean into the Cayman’s passenger door. Stephanie remains seated, stroking her leather seat.

“Nice,” she caresses. “Manly,” she sighs, and I briefly envision how manly, indeed, I am in adjustable bucket seats. 

Instead, I adjust something else. “Rex is waiting,” I urge her upward. 

“Whoopsie,” she half tumbles and burbles into my sweater. “Nice,” she nuzzles, then peers upward. “You should come upstairs. But no... I want dates. And to be special.” 

“You are special,” I reassure her toward her building. “But tipsy.” 

“Tipsy,” she giggles, then pouts. “You’re special, too. But you do stakeouts, not dates.” ****

**68\. The Words**

_ Great. _ I’m still bench pressing when the boss walks over. 

“I don’t get it,” Ranger growls. “I take her for ice cream, even to movies.” 

“Me too,” I puff into my extension.

“I drive her around after her cars blow up…”

“Yup, me too.”  _ Grunt. _

“... and I lend her cars, high end cars.”

“Ditto on driving and I’d lend cars if I could.” I rack my weights. ”But, do you say the words?”

_ Yeah, gotta love that glare. _

“Repeat after me,” I enunciate, sitting up. “I’d like to take you on a date.” 

“Aw, dude,” Lester elbows Ranger. “Elliott cares!”

**69\. A Favor**

“I’ll never touch alcohol again,” I moan, collapsing on the couch. 

“Until next time,” Connie murmurs, blowing her nails dry.  _ Jealous Red _ , she’s informed us. 

I’d roll my eyes except I’d have to amputate my throbbing head. “I’m serious,” I begin before Lula interrupts. 

“What brings a big hunk of man like you here?” she purrs as Tank enters.

“Receipts,” he mutters, edging toward Connie. 

“Where’s Lester today?” Connie checks Tank’s paperwork.

“Backing up Ranger and Jeanne Ellen.” Maybe he hears my gasp. “Business as usual, Little Girl,” he rumbles. “A favor.” 

I nod, but maybe I should borrow Connie’s polish.

**70\. Spandex**

“But it’s Jeanne Ellen,” I sputter, finally outside. 

Lula rolls her eyes. “So sometimes Ranger helps Bounty-Hunter Barbie. Sometimes he helps Tank and I  _ know  _ Batman ain’t checkin’ out  _ that _ booty.”

“It’s just... she’s Catwoman. Everyone knows Batman can’t stay away from Catwoman.” 

“Now I think you’re just having one of those ‘Reality versus Spandex’ hallucinations like on Phil Donahue that time.”

“All I can think is Ranger’s probably delighted to be with someone who doesn’t blow up his cars or get firebombed.”

“Girlfriend, that man loves being a hero. How’s he gonna do that if you don’t have emergencies?”

**71\. Connected**

“You really do soulmate psychic readings?” Lula asks Mamie Zink on our way to rebook her. “Because the sign out front says  _ Naked Spirits _ , and you know that sounds like something else.” 

“We’re all naked to the universe,” Mamie declares. 

“Uh huh,” Lula shrugs. “So how do you know if people are soulmates?”

“Their auras glow with the flame of their connection.” 

Lula looks at me. “See, we just gotta get Batman, you, and Officer Hottie together and see who gives you that connected flame.” She pauses. “Okay, that sounded better in my head. But way more fun out loud.”

**72\. Never Works**

“Hello ladies,” Lester boisterously passes Lula and me as we escort Mamie into the precinct. 

“Wait, I thought you were with Ranger,” Lula frowns.

“And Jeanne Ellen,” I glare.

“Those two crazy kids went to Sunny’s to compare firearms,” Lester grins. “Leaving me with the skip receipt,” he waves goodbye. 

“Who's Ranger **?** ” Mamie asks.

“It don't matter ‘cause she's off men.”

“Oh, I don't think that's true. Besides, that never works,” Mamie shakes her head.

“Preach, sister,” Lula agrees. 

Mamie looks at me. “A bottle of Naked Spirits Massage Oil could help you out. I can get you a deal.”

**73\. Just Can’t Wait**

“Uh huh,” Lula’s eyes roll. “You gotta buy some gun cleaning oil right now. ‘Cause that pistol in your cookie jar just can’t wait another day.” 

Okay, Lula has a point. Maybe I have another reason to be parking outside of Sunny’s. Probably. 

“You just gotta decide what you’re gonna do after you’re over this ‘off men’ thing,” Lula huffs. “And maybe decide soon.” 

I follow her gaze to see Ranger and Jeanne Ellen leaving Sunny’s. Together. Laughing. Headed to Ranger’s truck. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Lula grabs my arm. “Girlfriend, I said decide  _ soon _ , not go crazy  _ this minute _ .” 

**74\. Rent Money**

“You remember Batman is the Wizard of Special Forces, right?” Lula comments. 

“Your point?” I ask, squeezing through the yellow light and hanging a left. Sheesh, horns on semi trucks are loud.

“So, he’s gonna spot this green hunk of Kia junk tailing his fine F-150 ass over half of Trenton.” 

“Maybe.”

She snorts. Then shouts, "Yo! Stop. Ain't that Morty Snapper, with the fifty thousand dollar bounty?"

I swerve. Crap, it’s Morty. 

“What you waitin’ for? That there’s rent money!”

Growling, I fishtail into a spot. She’s right. 

And hey! Jeanne Ellen isn’t the only bounty hunter in town.

**75\. Five Today**

“Hey Steph, I haven’t seen you so often in one day since that third grade field trip to Schiff Nature Preserve,” Eddie Gazarra pauses at the booking desk. “The time with the spiders.” 

“Thanks for that special memory,” I snort.

Carl laughs. “I bet Eddie screamed like a baby.” 

“Very funny,” Eddie mutters, scanning the skip paperwork. “Wow Steph, five today.” 

“A couple high bails, too,” Nina behind the desk winks. 

“Got our minds on our money,” Lula nods. 

“And your hands on my skip,”  Jeanne Ellen Burrows growls from the doorway. 

“Huh, was Frank Garcetti yours?” I smile innocently. 

**76\. Clarity**

“Girlfriend,” Lula grips the dashboard, “it ain’t this car’s fault you gotta bounty share with Jeanne Ellen, on account of her having the paperwork.”

“Uh huh.”

“Point is,” Lula continues, “we got a stack of Benjamins and looked good doing it.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you know Ranger will take  _ you  _ for celebratory drinks, too.”

“Uh huh,” I nod. So what if I brake suddenly? Red lights should be more visible. This is well known. 

“So,” Lula refills her handbag from the floor. “You getting any clarity during this ‘off men’ thing? Or do we gotta go buy more Boston Cremes?”

**77\. Some Vocabulary**

Working with Hector I’ve learned useful, everyday Spanish. I can say things like: _Elliott_ _get your ass over here_ , _hold the light steady_ , _hand me the drill_ , _don’t touch those wires togethe_ r, and _this is a total “effed up” mess_. 

Clearly middle school Spanish skipped some vocabulary.

Today, though, I was surprised to learn several new phrases including:  _ blonde ambition _ ,  _ the boss should know better,  _ and  _ why are the handsome ones so clueless _ .

Yeah, with you there on that one, Bro’.

But… why do I have the feeling my next phone call with Steph is going to be a doozy?

**78\. Shiny Lure**

Halfway through my day, I spot Stephanie’s car tailing me across town. I admit pride that my Babe’s following my latest lessons on stealthy pursuit. 

I also confess amusement that she assumes her chartreuse-and-rust, muffler challenged jalopy is inconspicuous. Someday I’ll convince her to accept my cars, again, rather than bargaining at the police auction. But I digress. 

Glancing at Jeanne Ellen in my passenger seat, I ponder. Then smile. 

Stephanie is a stubborn and tricky fish to land. Shameless flirting, gifts, even occasional heroic gestures don’t capture her independent attention for long. 

But jealousy is such a shiny lure. 

**79\. Not Entirely**

“So let me get this straight,” Connie’s pen pauses. “You got a payday that covers your rent for months but you’re pissed because men are fickle?”

“Well yeah,” I grumble. It’s not that simple.

“Newsflash: water is wet. Ducks quack.” 

A muffled “only mallards” echoes from Vinnie’s doorway. Connie frowns, then flips a switch under her desk. “Stupid microphone,” she harrumphs. “Is this about Jeanne Ellen?”

“Not entirely.”  _ Yes _ . 

“Okay,” she resumes my check. “Well, since you’re ‘off men’,” she air-quotes, “what single men like Ranger or even Morelli do shouldn’t matter.”

_ Crap _ , I hate it when Connie makes sense.

**80\. Relationship Special**

“What do you mean you’re out of upside-down cake?”

Lula bumps me aside. “Don’t worry,” she assures startle-eyed Millie Kruchowski behind the counter. “We’ll take that whole tin on the left,” Lula points to the apple crumble. “This is just one of those moments when any red blooded woman needs dessert,” her gaze tilts toward me, then back to Millie. “On account of seeing someone else’s truck outside the Ice Creamery, ‘cause maybe his body ain’t a temple after all.” 

“Lula,” I growl. 

“Ahhh,” Millie exhales, nodding. “A Relationship Special. Will you need two plates for that, or just one?” 

**81\. A Man’s Heart**

“They’re hiring at the button factory,” Mom murmurs, passing the brisket to Dad. “A nice, regular salary.”

“I already have a job,” I sigh. Explaining today’s payday would be useless.

“And what a job,” Grandma Mazur winks. “Hot men in tight T-shirts, handcuffs and such  _ big _ weapons.” Valerie covers Mary Alice’s ears and vainly signals for Albert to ear-muffle Angie.

“You should’ve brought one of those hunks over for dinner,” Grandma continues. “You win a man’s heart through his stomach.” 

_ Hmmm. Man... stomach.. _ ..  _ Ranger bringing me Krispy Kremes, Ranger at the Ice Creamery with Jeanne Ellen.  _

Hey! Who’s wooing who?

**82\. Wake Up**

_ “ _ Elliott! I figured something out,” Stephanie announces breathlessly.

Bleary, I fumble my phone to check the time. Yup, it’s that magical  _ zero-dark-thirty _ that my military coworkers extol. 

“It’s all about dessert,” her disembodied voice floats from the tinny earpiece. “Or it’s because I  _ like _ dessert. And well, food. Oh, and driving in nice cars, right?”

“Um… sure,” I yawn, as she continues without pause. 

“So that’s easy, but what does Ranger like?” 

Seconds tick by as I struggle to wake up. Finally I manage, “You. He likes you.”

“So I just have to be me?” 

“Yup,” I mumble. “That’s it.”

**83\. Being You**

“Mikey, stop that!” Mary Lou’s muffled voice commands. “Your brother is not a musical instrument.”  _ Oops _ , I’ve called during school carpool. 

“I can call back….”

“No, this is still fine Stephie. So, what’s your plan?”

“I have a list,” I confide. “Get dressed, pick up Lula, deposit Vinnie’s check, and track down Ducky Duckman like Connie requested.” 

“Stephanie, I don’t hear  _ Ranger _ or  _ talking _ in that list.” 

“Yeah, but Elliott said I just have to be me, like usual.”

“I doubt he meant _being_ _you_ while Ranger is elsewhere.”

“Oh.”  _ Duh. _ “It’ll come to me.”

“Well, that’s definitely  _ being you _ .”

**84\. Something New**

Call it the better part of valor. Or, you could quote my crazy Grandma Bella, that a man’s courage is only as big as his balls. 

I honestly don’t care. 

Because as I start to pull into Tasty Pastry, I see Stephanie’s latest POS car out front, crookedly blocking two spots. I recognize that vehicular sign language. Having seen Manoso yesterday with that blonde firecracker of a bounty hunter, I have a good idea how to translate it. 

Not my business, anymore, I guess. 

Anyhow, why am I getting donuts for Robin? Maybe it’s really time to start something new. 

**85\. She’s Not Wrong**

“Now that was a serious decor tragedy,” Lula proclaims, and she’s not wrong. “I guess the good news is that your bank ain’t wasting money on any of those frills you hear about.”

I decide not to share how the last branch manager ran off with the escrow account, probably taking all those frills with him.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “If only Sheila Kowalski was the teller today, they might’ve believed my check was real without having to call Connie.”

“And we wouldn’t have needed to numb our butts for an hour on those folding chairs, neither.” 

Again, she’s not wrong. 

**86\. Incident Report Form**

“You don’t see that everyday.” Carl gapes at Ducky Duckman’s patchwork jalopy while Lula and I secure the inebriated Ducky into my backseat.

“Is that duct taped or welded?” Big Dog asks.

“Is it a Civic or a snowplow?” Carl counters. 

“Maybe he’s into Mad Max,” Lula pitches in from my side. “Or he stole it from a zombie encampment like on TV.” 

Carl blinks. “Well, I’d believe anything about Vinnie’s clientele. Anyway, Steph, I apologize for mocking your Kia. At least it’s recognizably a car.”

Big Dog frowns. “Which checkbox on the Incident Report Form covers ‘possible zombie vehicle’?”

**87\. Pizza Place**

“Either you got a critter in your handbag or you’re  _ hella _ hungry,” Lula observes while we wait at the light. “Hey, ain’t that the Rangeman pizza place?” she points. 

_ Huh _ . It’s Shorty’s. Ringed by parked, black Ford Explorers with antennas that probably communicate with the Space Station. 

And suddenly I’m hungry. 

Until the door opens and a laughing, blonde woman in leather and a tactical vest strides out, flanked by Les and Bobby. 

The light turns green. I tap the accelerator. Okay, maybe I floor the accelerator.

My stomach growls again. 

“Yeah, definitely a critter in your handbag,” Lula nods. 

**88\. Free Your Mind**

“Hey Mamie,” Lula calls out the car window while I park. “You out on bail already?”

“Yup,” my former skip replies, peering into my car. “You can’t keep liberated souls behind bars,” she beams dreamily while pulling a couple flyers from her jute bag. “Stop by Naked Spirits later to celebrate my freedom.” 

“This is a sale flyer,” I murmur as she hands one to me.

“Isn’t that how  _ you _ celebrate?” Mamie tilts her head. 

“We usually celebrate at Macy’s,” Lula replies, “but this deal on massage oil sounds good.” 

“Save money, realign your chakras,” Mamie nods. “Free your mind.”  ****

**********89\. A Better Idea**

“Whoa Homegirl, I have a better idea.” Lula’s sudden stop in the Family Diner doorway practically pinballs me back into the mall. “Let’s go to Wendy’s.”

“But Lula,” I try to scoot by her. “You’re the one who talked me into today’s meatloaf and mashed potato special.” My stomach growls vehement agreement.

“Yeah, I just remembered I’m on this diet. One where you gotta eat at chain restaurants.” 

“Lula,” I scoff. Then hear an unmistakable laugh. __

With a dodging nudge, I peek around Lula. 

It’s Joe. In jacket and tie. With Robin. 

Okay, we’re heading to Wendy’s. I’m  _ so _ over Joe. 

**90\. Good Talk**

“So Elliott, I realized something else.” Stephanie exclaims in lieu of  _ hello _ . Again I resolve to check who’s calling  _ before  _ answering my phone at a client’s. 

“Mmm hmm?” I turn, dodging Hector’s scowl.

“Joe never took me out to lunch. We ate out, like Pinos, but never something special.”

“Ahhh.” I marshal my inner Oprah. “How does that make you feel?”

“Like American chop suey.”

“Huh?” Inner Oprah is befuddled. 

“Like sadness and anger and ‘who cares’ are simmering for a kinda disappointing dinner you’d rather skip.” She breezes. “Ooh sorry, gotta go, bye!” 

“Good talk....” I shake my head.

**91\. Switch Things Up**

“Ranger,” Les grouses. “I’m just saying you owe me for spending first shift with Jeanne Ellen. She puts the word ‘lacks’ into the phrase ‘sense of humor’.” 

“Good thing I don’t pay you to be a comedian,” I scan traffic for tails. 

“Your loss. Just don’t hire her for distractions, again. Skips believe she’s an easy pickup like they believe I’m their Aunt Edna.” 

“That’s because you stopped wearing the dress.”

“Ha effing ha. But seriously, did she piss off Sebring again?” 

“No, just thought I’d switch things up.

“Aha!  _ You’re  _ trying to piss off  _ Stephanie _ . Bobby owes me ten.” ****

  
**92\. Plans for Tonight**

“ _ Jefe _ , you got death wish,” Hector glowers. “Or you  _ estupido _ .” Then Hector points to me. “Ask Elliott.” 

_ Thanks bro’ _ , I think as Ranger’s rearview glare spears me. 

“So,” he asks, deceptively casually, “would Stephanie work tonight’s distraction with Jeanne Ellen?” 

“Um, maybe ask her?” I stammer instead of  _ Dude, lose your phone book? Or your mind?  _ Yeah, remaining employed— or just alive— has its perks. But I’m already imagining tonight’s Steph-call. 

Ranger’s gaze pivots outside. Hey, that’s Steph’s car at Naked Spirits. 

“Interesting,” he murmurs. “What’s she up to?” 

Hector snorts. “Maybe plans for tonight while you with Jeanne Ellen.” ****

**93\. Anything Tonight?**

I shrug off my purse and drop my shopping bag, with its promise of an extended  _ Peppermint Rewards  _ bath after dinner with my parents. 

“Buy anything interesting?” Ranger’s voice caresses from my livingroom. 

“Cripes!” I gasp. Why do I bother locking my door? 

“Doing anything tonight?” He saunters over, shirt painted over muscles, brow arched.  _ Oh my.  _

_ “ _ What did you have in mind?” I mentally change into skinny jeans and strappy heels. Sorry Mom.

“I’d like your help with a distraction at Balboa’s.”

I squint. “Jeanne Ellen’s busy?” 

“No, she’ll be there, too.”

“Sorry, I forgot, I have other plans.” 

**94\. Asks Me Out**

“So then, he tries to hire me. To work with  _ Jeanne Ellen _ .” I’m practically hyperventilating. Good thing Elliott doesn’t mind taking calls while doing emergency alarm repair at Pete’s Pawn. 

“ _ Angelita _ , you want I should cut him?” Hector asks in the distance.

“Oh, jeez, no,” I exclaim, then add, “Maybe tell Hector to just look away if I kick Ranger in the unmentionables, okay?”

I hear laughter as Elliott chimes in, “But Ranger’s asked you out before, hasn’t he?” 

I exhale. “Well, he always helps me. He’s patient and makes sure I’m okay. But he never just asks me out.”

**95\. Asked Out**

“Uh, maybe we could meet for coffee tomorrow?” Axel mumbles. 

Whoa. Who knew that Mom’s latest dating candidate, Nurse Axel (“men can be nurses too”) from Uncle Norbert’s nursing home, might bring novelty to dinner along with credible  _ pierogies _ ? 

I think I’m being asked out. 

Asked. Out. Like it’s my choice. With no obvious ulterior motives. It’s… nice. 

I gaze sidelong at Axel. Blond and brawny, he rivals Rangeman’s Hal in size and awkward conversational pauses. And with my track record it’s still possible he smuggles guns or Kaopectate as a hobby. 

But… asked out.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

**96\. Unexpectedly Open**

“Wait, you’re not ‘off men’ anymore?” Connie interrupts me. “Did anyone else miss that memo?” 

“There was a memo?” Lula turns. “Oh, you mean like ‘does everybody else know.’ Nah, girl, this here is  _ news _ .”

“It’s just coffee,” I object, then reconsider. “Or… maybe more. I don’t know. He asked me out, and it was nice. No winking ‘Bob misses you’ comments and no confusion over whether the invitation is a sexy prelude to a job. Just a simple ‘let’s have coffee’.” 

“Whoa,” Les grins from the unexpectedly open door. “Didn’t see that coming. Who’s the lucky guy?”

_ Uh oh.  _

  
**97\. Might Be Interesting**

“Oh look, it’s Ranger!” Binkie exclaimed as I entered the fifth floor. Everyone suddenly appeared very busy.

That was my first hint that today might be interesting.

Then Les appeared with coffee, announcing that Steph was busy today, thus not available for assignments. He then needed to scurry right back to his desk.

Okay. Clearly, there’s something about Stephanie I’m not supposed to know. It’s therefore not a kidnapping, explosion, or wild animal alert. The gamut of other quasi-dire situations, though, is exponential. 

Many, alas, involve her grandmother. Others involve Vinnie’s ridiculous skips. 

“Les, get back in here,” I growl. 

**98\. The Jump**

Note to self: it’s never good to see my boss lurking in a doorway. I almost duck except, crap, he’s spotted me. 

“Elliott,” he barks, stopping me in my tracks. “Hector,” he adds. “Report.”

“ _ Ay, Dios _ ,” Hector grunts as we both cast furtive glances around the lab. Ranger’s in the doorway. Unless we dive out the bathroom window, we’re trapped. 

Hector is looking toward the bathroom.

“Where’s Stephanie today?” Ranger crosses his arms, muscles bulging.

“Um….” I could maybe survive the jump.

Hector huffs. “Donuts, driving, catching stupid bad guys, coffee with new friend, Vinnie’s.”

“Coffee where? Elliott?”

Oh crap.

**_99\. La Telenovela_ **

“ _Jefe_ , Elliott don’t know where _Angelita_ gets coffee today. I don’t know. Every day, different place. She harder to follow than _la_ _telenovela_ mi Abuela likes.” 

All five-foot-five of Hector is in Ranger’s face, slim as a knife. I’ve never been more impressed— or frightened— by my colleague. But he’s right: neither of us knows where Stephanie’s headed. And besides…

“Why you not ask  _ her _ ?” Hector squints, arms crossed. 

Ranger glares. “I always vet new people she meets.”

“Aha,” Hector crows. “You care  _ who _ , not where.” With a wicked Mona Lisa smile, he purrs, “Maybe Jeanne Ellen can help you.”

  
**100\. Under the Hood**

Screw it. It’s definitely a day for the Panamera GTS. Midnight black, tinted windows, and blackwalls. Sleek, low-to-the-ground handling, and a turbo-charged V8 under the hood with deceptively quiet acceleration. I smile, punching into a squeal of tires from the Rangeman exit. 

It’s the little things.

Today I’ve learned: I employ a bunch of man babies who can’t do field reports; Hector is still a scary SOB; and apparently Jeanne Ellen knows something I don’t. 

Not effing likely. 

I’ll track down the latest threat to my Babe the old fashioned way. Since, as Elliott noted, she’s ditched her tracker again. 

  
  


_ To be continued... _


	3. The Dilemma: 101 - TBD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer (applies to all): The Stephanie Plum character(s) belong to JE, trademarks belong to their respective owners, and I make no profit from them. These stories, though, belong to me. This is just for entertainment, so please excuse any errors.

_ This chapter features a few longer pieces to facilitate telling the narrative that had built through all the moments up to this point. _

* * *

**101\. Chatting**

“Heck if I know, Ranger,” Jeanne Ellen’s glare scorches through her shooting range glasses. “You know me: if I’m not tracking someone’s sorry hide, I don’t waste time chatting with the chickadees.” She grins. “Unless there’s a bounty on Stephanie?”

“No. I’m evaluating a possible threat.”

“Sure. While she’s having coffee.”

“It’s possible.” 

“You sure know how to pick ‘em,” she snorts. “Kinda busy. Though finding out who else your girlfriend is dating might be a hoot.”

Before I can clarify, she smirks, “Try your cellphone.” Donning earmuffs she adds, “Now let me shoot holes in the big ‘stupid-man’ cutout.” 

**102\. Sipping Coffee**

_> > Tip o’ the hat to trhodes9 for the_ _diner idea. << _

My Panamera may be  _ chill _ , but I am not. 

_ Call Stephanie _ , they said. From Lester to Jeanne Ellen, and even Connie Rosolli. Right. That might work if Steph hadn’t started leaving her phone off to avoid being tracked. 

Apparently people think I’m a complete idiot. 

Since I’m not, just a couple calls, traffic cam footage, and police radio chatter located Steph and her mother’s latest probable-serial-killer date sipping coffee. A snap from my camera through the front window, and a dozen services are searching his identity.

Only question: why are they at the diner where she and I first met? 

**103\. Relationship Advice**

“Here’s the beep, you know what to do,” Steph’s recording concludes. 

“Ha! Elliott, she ignore your calls, too.” Hector snorts, his soldering iron’s acrid smoke wafts like a dragon’s exhale.

“Um, yeah,” I turn, shielding my phone like it makes a difference. “Hey, Steph, it’s me. Again. So… when you pick up messages can you call Ranger?”

“Or check rear view,” Hector hollers. “ _ Probable que _ is following you now.”

“Not helping,” I sigh. “But likely true. Ranger’s worried or something. Just call.”

Hector snickers. “Is Elliott who’s worried. He have to give  _ Jefe _ relationship advice.” 

I shudder; Hector’s so right.

**104\. Black Porsche**

“You’re funny, Stephanie,” Axel smiles as I finish regaling him with my latest FTA adventure. “You should write books.” 

I snort. “Nobody would believe stories about exploding taxidermy, freerange giraffes, and multiple car explosions.” 

“They don’t have to believe,” Axel asserts. “Though I do,” he quickly amends. “Tell your stories like you just did. Especially the one about the smashed Boxter.”

Speaking of… I squint through the diner’s window. That black Porsche looks awfully familiar. 

Then I spy Ranger’s unmistakable silhouette.  _ Jeez _ . Should I tell him he’s predictable? Or just act surprised he’s tracked me down on yet another date?

**105\. Actions Speak**

“Okay girlfriend, “Lula enthuses. “But how was your date?”

“It was just coffee,” I repeat.

“Coffee with a handsome guy where Ranger met you.” Connie looks up from sorting files. “Sounds like Ranger thought it was a date.” 

This is why I should keep my private life, well, private.. 

“Jeez, guys. Axel is a nice guy who actually asked me out.” 

Connie snorts. “Ranger is an intriguing guy who actually gives you cars.” 

“Yeah, and he makes it a point to say he’s not relationship material,” I retort. 

“And you’re ‘off men’ but dating. Maybe actions speak louder than words?” 

**106.** **Needs Words  
**

_ Hector insisted on a longer chapter: almost 500 words. And, seriously, would you have argued with him? _

“Is  _ Jefe _ again?” Hector glares. “Elliott, put phone on speaker.”

Cringing, I comply as Ranger’s voice switches from ears to out-loud. “... And I hire her when she’s broke. I rescue her when she’s over her head, and I give her cars.” 

“ _ Jefe _ ,” Hector huffs. “How she know you not just generous  _ Papi Chulo _ , like sugar daddy?”

“I tell her,” Ranger asserts. 

Hmm, based on Stephanie’s stories, I’m not sure that’s quite true. Grimacing again, I speak up, “Um, boss, what do you tell her? Because I’m not sure….” 

“Beyond everything I do?” Ranger huffs. “I’ve told her several times that I love her in my own way, and there’s no price to any of what I give her. I’ve been very transparent.”

_ “Ay dios,“  _ Hector grumbles. “In  _ my _ own way, I love my Leatherman Multitool,” he snorts, waving the stainless steel gadget in question before packing it away. “With my heart, I love  _ mi amante _ ,  _ mi amor _ . Not same thing.” He shakes his head. “Say to yourself  _ en español _ . You know the difference then. And  _ ‘no price’ _ ?  _ Que estúpido _ : you telling her there is price but you not collect it.  _ Oye, _ nobody talk price with friend or lover.” 

“I don’t need language lessons.” Ranger snaps. “She knew I meant I was giving her all my help freely.” Hector shakes his head, conceding a lost cause. Ranger's voice drops half an octave, taut and precise. “She took her date to the diner where we first met. She’s obviously telling me something, and I think it’s pretty clear.”

“Maybe she telling you she like coffee.” Hector snaps shut his leather tool roll. “Maybe she forget she met you there.” He turns to the door. “ _ Me voy.  _ I go check system hardline. Elliott, he all yours.” 

_ Gee, surprise, that went well.  _

“Elliott,” Ranger’s measured tone surprises me. “You know Stephanie. Is Hector right?” 

Okay, I didn’t expect that. “Um, well yeah.” I inhale. Hector is clearly still alive, so I may as well say what I think. “Boss, sometimes a diner is just a diner. And I’m guessing the draw to that one is that it’s outside the ’Burg, so less gossip. But, really, you need to  _ ask  _ her.” 

I hesitate again before adding, “And Hector’s right about words, too. She’s confusing as all heck, but she needs words and she pays attention to what they say, and what they don’t. Think about it: I drive her around; you have more money and give her cars. Maybe it seems like we’re doing the same thing?”  _ Sometimes a car is just a car. Sometimes a man is just a friend. _

My phone is silent; an electronic stand-in for my laconic boss. And then I hear, “Hmm. Good points. Go help Hector.” Ranger hangs up. 

_ Awesome.  _ I roll my eyes, staring at my now blank phone. Why am I in the middle of this, again? Oh yeah: Stephanie. 

**107\. We Miss You**

“What are these for?” In my rearview, Mary Alice dangles handcuffs she must’ve pulled from the seat pocket. Meanwhile, “TastyKakes!” Angie exclaims while rummaging in my glovebox. I catch the pepper spray canister she dislodges. 

_ How did Valerie talk me into after-school pickup today? _

“Aunt Steph,” Angie leans on the console between the front seats to wrest the cuffs from her younger sister. “We never see you anymore. We miss you!”

_ Oh yeah. That’s how.  _

“It’s true,” Mary Alice affirms. “You should come to dinner,” she adds, slapping at her sister’s hands.

“Mom said you had a date.” Angie glances my way as she finally captures the cuffs. “But it wasn’t with Mr. Morelli.” The cuffs clunk on the floor. “Was it with that really sexy guy who wears all black?”

“The one Great-Grandma Mazur calls a ‘big hunk of man beefsteak’?” Mary Alice helpfully elaborates, having relinquished the handcuffs to her sister.

“Girls!” I roll my eyes.

“Well, was it?” Angie is undaunted.

“No. My date, well my afternoon coffee, was with a nice guy named Axel. Your Grandma Plum introduced us.” 

“Oooh, I bet Mr. Beefsteak is jealous,” Mary Alice sing-songs. 

“Yeah,” Angie nods knowingly. “He really likes you.” She punctuates her words by tapping me with the chicken-headed plastic spork from my recent Cluck-in-a-Bucket carry out.

“Seriously, girls.” I snare the spork before turning left into traffic, a maneuver that really should be added to the  _ New Jersey Rules of the Road _ . “His name is Ranger. Well, that’s what he likes to be called. And he’s never asked me out on a date. Unlike Axel.” 

Angie peeks back at Mary Alice. It’s oddly quiet, then two heads nod in unison. Angie turns back to me. “Okay, Aunt Steph. If you don’t want to date Mr. Beefsteak, or whatever his name is, that’s cool.”

“Weird, but cool,” Mary Alice chimes in. 

“And we’d have our doubts,” Angie appends, squinting. “But if you  _ do  _ want to date him….”

“Which, duh,” Mary Alice interrupts with a light kick to my seatback.

_ “...  _ it’s time for  _ you  _ to take charge and ask Mr. Beefsteak out on a date.” Angie sits back and crosses her arms.

“Totally.” Mary Alice pumps her fist. “Girl power. You got this!” 

**108\. Your Game**

Jeanne Ellen slides into the other booth at my table at the East Orange Friendly Diner. Her leather-clad legs are sinuous and quiet on the taped vinyl. I pause, fork mid-air. What the heck?

"Stephanie Plum," she greets me as if I don't know my own name. "I need to understand your game." Her voice drips like melted sundae caramel. "You know: 'twixt us gals."

"My game?"

"With your man," she elaborates. "Are you trying to get his attention?" She leans forward, eyes gleaming. "Maybe make him jealous?"

"Huh?" Maybe the waitress slipped something funny into my meatloaf. It could happen.

Jeanne Ellen smiles knowingly. "I can certainly understand checking out that new hunk of blond. He's not bad." She leans back. "I can vouch that Ranger noticed, too."

Hmm, okay… well, he hired Elliott after my mom set us up. Maybe he wants to hire Axel, too?

Oh wait: the pieces click into place in my mind. She meant Ranger when she asked about making 'my man’ jealous.

Probably I said that out loud, I realize as Jeanne Ellen's brows feather upward. "Interesting," she drawls. Before I can reply, she leans forward. "So here's the deal-io. I finally figured out why I keep getting pulled into Rangeman jobs as the sweet distraction bunny."

She reaches over and plucks a couple fries from my plate. "Of course, the extra cash is nice. But, that's not my favorite type of gig. So, if you're avoiding Ranger," she points her final fry at me, "let me know and I'll give him the name of a couple of gals looking to get into the game, who he could hire for cheap."

"Jeez, he's avoiding me." Not that it's any of her business, but sheesh.

"Hmm, that's even more interesting." Her eyes glimmer in amusement. Tilting her head, she purses her lips into a smile. "Well Sweet Pea, far be it from me to analyze the fuzzy wuzzies of Ranger's relationships. But, I have to wonder who's avoiding who. After all, you drove all the way to East Orange for a meal that you could've had at Pino's, Shorty's, or The Family Diner near where you live. Just a thought."

I glare pointedly while crossing my arms, holding back the stirring of a rhino moment. "Okay, here's a thought for you. Maybe I'm all the way out here because I was trying to avoid having people sit down at my dinner table to tell me what they think I should do."

Jeanne Ellen surprises me with a full bodied laugh. "Ah, now I see how you caught Ranger's attention." She leans on the table and sways out of her booth. "Well anyhow, I'm tired of Rangeman gossip, so I'm turning down Rangeman jobs for a while. You and Ranger can work it out however you want."

She pauses for a moment before turning. "But, though I don't usually do "free," here's a tip: Ranger already knows I'm not even slightly interested in him. His next distraction cuddle bunny might have different feelings. So, maybe it's time to make your next move," she winks. "'Twixt us gals." 

Finally left alone to finish my dinner, I'm confused. Jeanne Ellen thinks I"m trying to make Ranger jealous, or notice me. But Ranger is the one who kept sending me back to Joe. He's generous and a good friend— and, yeah, drop dead sexy and a wizard under the covers— but he's the one who's told me several times that he's not relationship material.

Though, he actually hasn't told me that in a while. And, to Connie's point, i should look at his actions, not just his words. Am I actually making Ranger jealous?

Does that mean he now maybe is relationship material? Or just confused, like me?

**109\. Morning Rush Hour**

"Okay Stephie," Mary Lou's calm voice projects from my phone, interrupting me. "Let me see if I get this. Killer Barbie Bounty Hunter interrupted your dinner to give you advice because she thinks you're Ranger's girlfriend? Even though you say you're not."

"Kinda, yeah." I reply while tapping on the accelerator. Morning rush hour is the best time to talk with my bestie, but next time I'm calling from the comfort of home. Squinting into the morning sun, I add, "Killer Barbie thinks I'm trying to make him jealous."

"Hmm," she pauses. "Well, are you?"

"No!" I lurch forward into my seatbelt after stomping on the brakes. Jeez, can people just learn to drive?

"Let's see. You've gone on a date or two with that guy Axel, recently. You like him, he's really nice, but your mom found him so maybe he's a serial killer. At the same time, he doesn't seem to have layers so maybe he's boring,  _ et cetera _ . Right?

"Yeah." I roll my eyes at her  _ Reader's Digest  _ summary of my past couple of calls. But, as usual, she nailed it.

"You've talked to me about Axel. Probably to your friend Elliott, also, and to the ladies you work with. Right?"

"Yeah," I reply a bit absently as I work on squeezing into a gap in the left lane of traffic.

"So, have you talked to Ranger about him?"

"Um, no."

"Why not, Stephie? You say he's one of your best friends.

Cripes, why is that guy behind me honking? I signalled first. Jeez.

"Stephanie, you there?"

"Yup. Just communing with Trenton traffic."

"Cool. Just remember Mr. Floyd's Driver's Ed advice that the New Jersey Boy Scout's one-finger salute out the window is never a good substitute for safe driving."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I reply as I stop rolling down the window and put my hand back on the wheel. "You know me."

"Yuppers, I do." her amusement comes through loud and clear. "And, I also know that you haven't answered my question. Why haven't you talked to Ranger about Axel?"

"He hasn't called recently," I harrumph.

"Don't you ever call him?"

I eye my passenger seat, noting that the donut bag there is empty. As is my Tastykake stash. I need to go shopping.

"Steph…?"

I sigh. "Yeah, but I usually catch him while he's on a stakeout. Or in the middle of handcuffing a drug dealer. So it's mostly like:  _ Yo _ . Hi.  _ Babe _ . Ranger.  _ Kinda busy _ . Okay call you later."

Mary Lou laughs. "I see the problem." Controlling her giggles, she continues, "So here's something to think about. With all he does, he must feel  _ something  _ for you. Even if he's just a friend. And now you're kinda-maybe dating a guy and talking to everyone about it, except for him . It might feel like you're hiding it from him. That might make even just-a-friend feel left out. And maybe even jealous of your attention."

She has a point. A really good one. This is why Mary Lou is my bestie. I was so right to call her this morning.

But she's not done. "Another thought: When Ranger works with Killer Barbie, does that feel different than when he works with the guys you've mentioned, like Tank?" More softly she adds, "Are you jealous of her?"

I watch the traffic ahead as it slows to a crawl of brake lights. "Yeah," I mumble after a moment. "I think I am. Jealous."

"Sweetie, there's nothing wrong with feeling what you feel," Mary Lou's kindness reassures. "It just seems to me that you need to choose whether you want Ranger as a friend, or as more. Then you'll be ready to talk with him."

I blink. It's so simple, so obvious, when she explains it. I need a copy of Mary Lou in my head.

I must have said that out loud because she laughs again. "No room. Your head is over two hundred percent full of Stephanie Plum. Besides, if I were in there too, you wouldn't need me as a best friend."

I smile. If she were here in the car, she'd be nudging me with her elbow right now.

"And I do," I exclaimed before repeating a refrain that's been ours since third grade, "Besties forever!"

"Forever besties," she joins in, and we both dissolve into giggles. Drive time with Mary Lou is still the best.

**110\. Dietary Challenge**

Strawberry cream pie or eclairs? Sara Lee or Entenmann’s? Pineapple upside-down cake or… well, pineapple upside-down cake.

Some choices matter. Some choices are difficult. Few people understand this. The people in line behind me at Supreme Market apparently don’t. Grocery shopping on a budget should be illegal.

Meanwhile, being ‘off men’ has become a serious dietary challenge. Why did I start this?

Ah yes: hockey game with benefits. Or stakeout with benefits. A choice between the two men’s habits.  Well, Mary Lou figured it out: being ‘off men’ got me to a different choice. 

Am I ready to reset the rules? 

**111\. Is This a Job?**

Ranger has definitely been in my car. 

Not only are the empty donut bags, wrappers, and coffee cups gone. More tellingly, my missing taser is in my glove compartment. Also, my  _ gun _ is there, not home in my cookie jar following sensible Rockford procedures. 

I look around the parking lot.  _ Hmm,  _ no flashy cars, black or otherwise. No obvious crazies either; I guess it’s safe to open the envelope labeled “Stephanie” that’s slotted in my console. 

Holy cow, it’s an invitation to dinner at Rossini’s. 

Tonight! 

Is this a job? A date? 

Get ready Batman, it’s my turn to decide. 

**112\. Feminine Positives**

Nah, girlfriend," Lula says. "That dress don't lie. It accentuates your feminine positives."

I check the mirror: twirly knee-length skirt; scoop neckline; princess seams. The fourth little black dress from the sale rack. I tick them off: one is "married-but-fun," two is "I own this place," three is "too many cocktails," and four is "can’t stop flirting."

I want to buy  _ flirting _ , but who do I want to  _ be _ ?

Then Lula asks, "You trying to lure Batman to bed?"

_ Maybe. _

But... "No. I want a fresh start. Something real. Not just sex." Something different. Something I choose.

Aha! Tonight? Yeah,  _ I own this place _ .

**113\. Rex Agrees**

Mom insists that pearls are right for all occasions, but mostly I ignore that advice. Let’s face it, costume jewelry is bling that’s actually affordable. Also, no excuses are needed if you accidentally lose it in a vat of drycleaning solvent or under an asphalt-roller truck while chasing a skip. Just for example.

But tonight, Rex agrees: it’s time for Aunt Eleanor’s pearls. Rex watches as I clip on the final earring. His eyes shine with approval. His whiskers telegraph confidence. 

I stand for the closet door mirror and, wow, Rex is right. 

Batman better bring his “A” game, tonight.

**114\. A Hundred Words**

Having arranged for a last-minute limo for Stephanie, I slip into the restaurant with my garment bag, and immediately veer to the men’s room. Of course this afternoon had to be when our client unexpectedly gave the nod to move on a particularly stubborn and well-armed “redecoration” job. Hence my ruined tee, dinged kevlar, and tactical field pants, which I quickly deposit into the bag after retrieving this evening’s clothes. 

In an odd juxtaposition of marble basin, finger towels, and mechanic’s soap, I leverage the skills I developed undercover to quickly freshen up, suit up, and get ready to rock. 

“Mr. Manoso, as always you’ll be the best dressed man in the room,” Leo the attendant affirms as he takes my garment bag for safekeeping.

The maitre d’ nods and shows me to my requested table amidst the chatter of early evening diners. It’s the usual mix of couples, a family celebration, and a few groups conducting business over wine or dinner. 

But then, moments after I sit, Stephanie walks into the restaurant, and the rest of the dining room might as well not even be there. It’s like when she first walked into the diner to meet me at Connie’s request: her appearance here changes everything. 

“Babe,” I stand, greeting her, and then I’ve pulled out her chair without even realizing it. “You look marvelous.” And she does. It’s not just her clothes; it’s her bearing. Her charisma. If I didn’t already know that she’s adept at being just who she needs to be, in any situation, I’d be surprised. Instead, I’m utterly impressed.

Tonight, she is more than my Eliza Doolittle, my protegee and sometimes partner. She is Stephanie Plum, my equal. 

“Thank you,” she sits as I position her chair, then smooths the lines of her skirt. Next she turns her gaze to me. Anyone else looking at her would see a demure smile on her face, but I see the propane blue fire alight in her eyes. A knowing challenge wrapped in a siren’s call. 

“You can close your mouth now, Batman,” she says. 

And it begins.

My lips twitch in amusement. “I thought you said I don’t talk enough,” I intentionally misunderstand while waving over Dominic the waiter. Knowing my preferences, he brings a bottle of sparkling water in lieu of an  _ aperitif _ , along with menus.    


“You don’t,” she huffs. “Like maybe you could’ve told me that the limo outside my apartment building was for me.” I can’t see her feet, but I’m certain that one of her shoes is tapping. “I thought you were picking me up.”

“I left a message on your phone and texted you.” Her eyes dart toward her purse and awareness flits across her face. I’m guessing she’s forgotten to charge her phone again. And that she didn’t think to check the ancient, Reagan-era answering machine at her apartment. I let it slide with a shrug. “I only just got back from a job and didn’t want to be late picking you up.” 

“Okay. But why a limo? Why not just send one of the guys, like Les or Elliott, instead of calling the limo company where my friend Dougie’s brother Ken works?” I unreel the ’Burg connections as she pauses, ready for when she continues, “By the way, Ken says Dougie has a ‘red light special’ running on Bluetooth speakers that only have small dents where they fell out of the truck. I’m buying a couple pairs for me and Grandma. I can get a pair for you, too, but I suspect you’re already set.” 

“Got that covered, Babe, but thanks anyway.” I smile inwardly, not wanting to mention that really she speaks enough for both of us. And also, that I find her conversation charming. Though I might mention that later, when she’s not still covering up her gaffe with her probably uncharged phone. “And the limo was a better alternative to Les, who was with me on the job. Or even Elliott, who’s still in Newark with Hector. They’re all at work.” 

She tilts her head, as though to see me from a different angle, and then nods. “Okay, that makes sense,” she acquiesces, reaching for the menu. 

Her leisurely scan through the entrees— and, of course, the desserts— has a typically tonic affect on my Babe. She visibly relaxes and shares murmurs of sensual appreciation while she imagines her way through the list of numerous cheese-smothered and syrup drizzled options. When I was choosing high-end restaurants for tonight, I made sure to select one that specializes in Stephanie’s chosen food pyramid. I may sometimes be dense when it comes to women, but I’m not stupid by any standard.

As she smiles, I know she’s finally chosen. I wave Dominic over for our order, and then select a wine to complement her veal parmigiana and my own brown rice and barley risotto.

All remains calm on the Stephanie front as the wine is poured and the salad is delivered. She talks about Vinnie’s latest skip, and once again I inwardly gnash my teeth that she simply will not stay working at Rangeman long enough to abandon Vinnie’s chancy paydays. She asks me about my day, and I relate the edited highlights, leaving out the more alarming and dark moments. 

As I conclude, she looks up. “What is this?” she waves her laden fork over the table in a vague circle.

“A salad,” I reply automatically, momentarily stumped by one of her patented  _ non sequiturs _ . 

“I know that.” She rolls her eyes. “Is this a date or a job interview?”

_ Ah.  _ This is what her friend Elliott meant: that I confuse her by expressing myself through actions, when she needs words. She might not know how to interpret my gestures tonight without them. 

I reach across the table for her free hand. “It’s a date, Babe. If you’ll accept it as such.” In truth, I’ll accept whatever interpretation she wants: date, friend, or coworker. Though I’ve declared my preference and intend to urge her in that direction.

“Don’t you think it’s a problem that I couldn’t tell?”

“You  _ have _ mentioned, once or twice, that I’m not clear.”

“No kidding,” she takes her hand back, raising it in one of her ‘what the heck’ gestures. “What am I supposed to think when you always flirt with me before offering me a job?”

“That I enjoy flirting with you.” There’s pleasure in the dance of seduction. Beyond that, I enjoy her ability to parry my more obvious suggestive remarks. And, the cherry blossom dust of her blushes is exquisite. So my reply is a no-brainer. 

Except Stephanie’s glare tells me that my ‘no brainer’ theory is clearly wrong. As the seconds tick by, I’m sure her foot is tapping under the table again. How do I explain this? In an ideal endgame, tonight is a date, and she is my partner in both life and work, so whether I’m flirting or discussing a job is not even a question. 

Evidently I’ve been quiet a moment too long. She puts down her fork with a frown. “Okay, be honest. What is tonight’s job offer?”

It’s obvious that a career of masking my intentions to achieve a goal is not helping me here. I reach again for her hand. “Babe, tonight is a date, pure and simple. Not a job offer, although a position at Rangeman is always open if you are interested.” 

“Why?” Before I can reply, she continues, “What I mean is: why ask me on a date tonight? One that’s not also a job... not that I’m complaining,” She assures me while lifting one of Rossini’s parmesan dinner rolls from the basket. Before chipmunking it into her mouth, she darts her eyes back to me. “I have to wonder: is it just because I went out with someone else?”

I resist the urge to cross my arms. Because in a way she’s right, and it had stung, but possibly not for the reason she thinks. “I assumed that meant you’re finally back ‘on men’.” My eyebrow twitches the final phrase in unconscious mimicry of the way she finger quotes it. “So I thought it was time to do something I’d been considering for a while.” I skip over that what had bothered me most was wondering if, all along, she’d been ‘on men’ but ‘off’ me.

“Like, oh, work with Jeanne Ellen instead of me?” 

Okay, score one to Stephanie. Even Les had picked up on that failed maneuver. Hell, even Jeanne Ellen had called me on it. Since I don’t want to derail my intentions, I’d rather not go too far down that ill-thought-out path. So I lean back, shrugging. “I needed help on a couple jobs and you seemed unavailable.”

“So is tonight because Jeanne Ellen decided she’s too busy, now, to work with you?” She takes a sip of water. I notice she hasn’t yet touched the wine. 

“No,” I reply quite honestly, though she’s right that Jeanne Ellen has told me she doesn’t want to be a stand-in for Stephanie anymore. Surprised that Stephanie is aware that Jeanne Ellen has taken her leave from Rangeman jobs for now, I recall that other people talk with each other. And Stephanie attracts gossip like nobody else I’d ever met. 

Hastening to reassure Stephanie and also move us beyond Jeanne Ellen, I concede, “You’re right: it’s true that Jeanne Ellen is unavailable again, but you’re never just a substitute for her.” 

“Hmm.” She squints at me, then also sits back in her chair. “You’re right about that,” she replies, chin out. I’ve seen this combination of belligerence and pride before, though usually directed at Joe.

In my periphery Dominic is hovering, unsure, with a large tray. I wave him over and he discreetly places our entrees on the table while an assistant removes Stephanie’s unfinished salad and my empty asparagus plate.

And once again Stephanie’s attention is occupied by the delights of cheese smothered food with a side of pasta and butter. How she stays slim is one of life’s great mysteries. One I truly hope I can keep exploring for a long time. And, as she moans low in delight over a laden forkful, I think of several other things I truly hope we can experience together. 

With a spark of amusement, I notice nearby diners glancing our way. “Enjoying your dinner?” I ask, tamping down the smirk I feel trying to emerge, recalling that she doesn’t always understand the reasons behind my humor. In this case, I’m simply enjoying her pleasure.

“Mmm hmm,” she replies languidly, eyes shining in agreement. 

“I’m glad,” I nod, pleased that I’ve gotten at least this part of the evening right. Actually hungry after the day I’ve had, I turn my attention to my own dinner. It’s not my habit to moan over food, saving that for more important and private endeavors. Yet, I nevertheless exhale in satisfaction that the chef has prepared my dish exactly the way I prefer. 

The  _ detente  _ of dinner lasts through Stephanie’s final sweep of a bread roll across her now-empty plate. Leaning back in her chair, again, she finally takes a sip of wine. “This is good,” she exclaims. 

My lips soften into a smile. “I remembered you liked this restaurant, back when I came here to buy my Boston office.” My memory slips back to that evening, which now seems so long ago. I had realized by then, over dinner, that Stephanie was someone with whom I could share aspects of my otherwise intentionally private life. I hadn’t yet wised up to what more she could be.

“That was when you told me about your daughter,” she smiles gently, reaching out to squeeze my fingers where they rest on the table. “It’s when I figured out that you were more complex than you wanted to seem.” 

I can’t help a brief laugh as Dominic’s swoops in with dessert menus as I’ve instructed, while his assistant removes our dinner plates. 

“Oh tiramisu,” Stephanie’s eyes glitter through another moan. Dominic, who hadn’t gone far, returns to take our order, smiling at the obvious delight in her eyes. They take a moment to chat about favorite desserts, and Stephanie has clearly made a new friend. I smile inwardly; it’s what Stephanie Plum does best. 

One of the things….

I wouldn’t say that I’m unaware of my surroundings at that moment, but her voice does interrupt my thoughts. “So Batman, you took a risk bringing me to a restaurant that’s technically in the ’Burg.”

“A risk?” Has she forgotten about my personal dressing rule: two guns and a knife at all times? Not to mention the state-of-the-art Rangeman surveillance at all entrances and exits? Which, of course, she might not know about, but no matter. 

She crosses her arms. “That we’d be seen together. Not to mention blowing your cover as a community-minded thug with perplexingly well appointed vehicles.” 

_ Ah. _ “Babe, my so-called ‘cover’ is just camouflage at this point. A distraction. But being seen with you? Never a problem. In fact, it’s my pleasure. I hope you’ll allow me to be seen with you more often.”

She squints. “So you brought me here so people can see that I’m with you?”

After taking a couple of seconds to untangle her question, I’m furious. Not with Stephanie, of course. But, if it wouldn’t mean abandoning Stephanie alone in a restaurant, I’d leave right now to go smack down Morelli, not to mention Attorney Richard Orr, for her insecurities. 

Instead, tamping down my anger to avoid confusing her, I try again. “No Steph, I brought you here because I remembered you liked this restaurant, and I wanted to take you someplace you liked. Because seeing you enjoy your dinner makes me happy. If you want, next time I’ll take you someplace you’ve never been.”

“There’s a ‘next time’?” she asks, pausing to shift her attention again to Domenic as he delivers our desserts. An extra-large Tiramisu for her, plain biscotti and black tea for me. 

“I would very much like for there to be a next time. As many as you’ll allow,” I reply, watching her melt into the sugar rush of her first bite. Domenic is assured of an exceptional tip, tonight. 

“Mmm,” is all she says as she angles her fork for her next bite with the focus of a hawk targeting a rabbit from a hundred yards away. I know her well enough, by now, to recognize that she’s also applying just as much attention to her thoughts about what I’ve just said. I can almost see the smoke coming from her ears as she thinks, though it would take a much more foolish man to mention that in this moment. 

Instead I wait, ostensibly focused on tipping the last of the wine into her glass, and then on sampling one of my biscotti. 

Finally she looks back at me with a hooded expression.

“So, how many dates do we go on before you send me back to Joe? Who’s now dating Robin Russell, by the way, so that would be really awkward. Or I guess you could tell me to go back to Axel, because he seems like a nice guy even though we’re not dating. Or, I don’t know, maybe you could send me back to Rex.” She stabs her tiramisu so hard that, if it were indeed a rabbit, it would have squealed.

_ Ah. _ Well, this question is clearly my fault. I can’t blame Morelli, Orr, or any of the other men in her life for her reaction. Can I make her understand? I take a deep breath. “Steph, I have no intention of ‘sending you back’ to anyone.” 

Before I can continue, and before she can even finish chewing, she elaborates, “But every time that we’ve gotten closer than casual coworkers, you’ve sent me back to Joe. Every time. Or, at least, backed off by saying something like you’re not relationship material. Whatever that means.” 

_ Or I’ve let her walk away _ , I silently add, because I’m not alone in this maneuver. But no matter; it all boils down to the same reason. “I’m very careful, very protective. As you saw with Scrog, being with me can be dangerous. By sending you away, I was trying to keep you safe.”

She actually pauses, fork idly hovering next to her plate. This is important to her. She finally speaks, “Okay, then I have to ask, yet again, why are we together on a date?” 

_ Because the place I want to keep you safe is in my arms. _ “Because I’ve recently come to understand that pushing you away makes me unhappy. And I think it makes you unhappy, as well.”

"Unhappy," she repeats to herself. She grasps her fork more firmly and delicately slices off another bite of tiramisu while she puzzles over that one word. Murmuring, probably not aware that she's speaking out loud, she shakes her head. "I don't get it. You're Ranger. You're intentional with everything you do. You pushed me away before, but now say you won't. You have a live-in cook who sometimes drops off food at my apartment, so you don't need to invite me to dinner because I'm unhappy. Or you're unhappy."

After a second bite, she nods, puts down her fork, and sits back. 

Crossing her arms, she says, “Ranger, tell me what you mean in a hundred words.” 

“Babe?” I feel my eyebrow flare upward and suspect my mouth may be open again. 

“Tell me your feelings. In words. Because I finally get Joe’s ‘tell me you love me in a hundred words’ thing. Either you do, and it’s simple, or you don’t and it’s impossible and stupid. I finally get that I couldn’t do that hundred-word thing with Joe because I loved the  _ idea _ of Joe, but not the man.” 

She swallows. “And I can tell you quite simply, right now, that I care for you, maybe it’s love, or could be. Anyway, I like when we’re together, even if there’s no sex. But I hold back because I don’t want to be ‘here today, back to Joe tomorrow’. I just don’t know what to think. So tell me.” 

Words. Damn Elliott for being right. I pause to marshall the ones that distill what I try to show her. A hundred words is too many, and not nearly enough. I could probably spend a lifetime saying variations on them. 

It’s my turn to swallow; then I begin. “Stephanie, you fascinate and amuse me. You bring light to the darkest corners of my life. You take risks that frustrate me, but I don’t mind because my life is much better with you in it. Which is to say, yes, I love you. And you also confuse me.” 

Before she can interrupt, I continue, “A man like me rarely gets a chance at love. And it’s precious. You’re precious. So I’ve backed away to protect you. And to protect myself. It’s probably my years of training kicking in at the wrong time. But truly, I want to have you with me. My partner in all things: life, work, and love, if you’ll share that with me.”

I exhale as though I just finished the Army Ranger’s field fitness test. Now it’s Stephanie’s turn to have her mouth open in surprise. 

“Ranger, do you really mean that?”

“From my heart,” I answer. Reaching across the table, I trace her cheek with my fingers. Her folded arms open like a rose. 

“Your heart,” she murmurs. Her hand, warm and soft in the power she has over me, comes up to caress my fingers. Pulling my hand away from her face, she enfolds my much larger palm, and my fingers envelop hers. We gaze at each other over the forgotten dessert as though we’re reunited lovers in some ridiculously saccharine, romantic movie. 

“You know,” she smiles, a gleam in her eyes. “This is maybe the first real date I’ve had in years. Which means I’m out of practice here. But I seem to remember that one of us is supposed to ask if we can do this again.” She tilts her head. “So Batman, can we do this again?” 

“Anytime, anywhere you want.” 

“Tomorrow night?” she asks, and only then do I realize with relief that I’ve held my breath until she spoke. Her quiet voice continues, “Because if this is going to be real, I’m not ready yet for it to be breakfast tomorrow.” She begins to nibble her lip until I reach with my free hand and touch her imperiled lip with my thumb. 

“Only what you want, when you’re ready,” I murmur, wanting to place my lips in the spot that I make my thumb relinquish. But I understand, now, that she needs the courtship she’s been lacking since her former husband Dicky Orr, and probably before him. 

I’ll wait for her; as long as she’s with me, it will be worth it.

So I simply add, “Tomorrow night is perfect, Babe. Let me know if you have a preference, or if I should choose where.”

“Let me think about it and let you know tomorrow.” 

“Works for me. Casual is fine, too,” I offer, since I suspect part of her thought process will involve figuring out what she has clean in her closet. Or, what she can find on sale. Seriously, I’ll go where she wants, though I hope it’s not Pino’s, since absolutely nothing they serve is healthy, other than water. But for Stephanie, I’ll even brave the cholesterol and gossip of Pino’s. 

“I did need those words, you know,” she interrupts my train of thought. “Everyone’s reminded me of all the things you do for me, and they’re right. And I do appreciate all of it. But I think I’ve never really believed your promise of ‘no price’. I needed to know  _ why _ you’d do what you do, not what I wouldn’t have to pay for it.” 

_ Ah _ . I exhale, accepting that I also planted the seeds of this confusion. It’s yet another reason why we’ve had this on-again off-again status. And Hector was right: it was an  _ estupido  _ thing to tell her, regardless of what I was trying to say.  _ No price Babe; anything for you.  _ Obviously it’s not how she interpreted it. 

My lips soften in a self conscious, smile. “I understand. As you’ve often told me, saying what I mean in words is not my strength. I think we both have proof of that.” Normally I’d leave it at that, but she’s right that I leave important things unsaid, so collecting my thoughts I soldier forward. It’s now or never. “Always know, though, that what I give you is because I love you. Even if sometimes I don’t say that in words.” 

“Sometimes?” her smile is somewhere between coy and radiant.

“Almost always,” I concede. “I’ll try harder. But you need to tell me when you’re confused or unsure.”

“Always, Ranger. I promise.” Her eyes spark with a moment of mischief. “Because, really, when have you ever known me to not speak my mind?” 

_ Too often where I’m concerned, apparently.  _

“Okay, it’s a deal,” she stretches out her hand, eyebrows raised meaningfully. Chuckling, I reach over the table and shake her hand.

“Deal,” I agree, marking a new commitment in our ongoing time together, this time as equals with a chance for each of us to understand what the other is saying, whether in words or actions. It was more than I’d hoped for, in meeting Stephanie tonight. And, as always, she surprised me and showed me how to look at everything with new hope.

And with that, we’re once again gazing at each other across the table like we’re in one of those sappy Hallmark movies that my sisters watch. Finally, though, I believe that she can see my words of love that are, in my own way, spoken in so much of what I do. 

* * *

_To be continued?_  
TBD whether I will post any further "moments" in this series. I have several written, at my muse's bidding, but they don't all belong in this story line. We'll see....


End file.
